A Cloak and Dagger State of Affairs
by Raul Fictitious
Summary: He was meant to be the perfect soldier, the ultimate sacrifice for peace. The Department of Mysteries had other plans.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me. Who doesn't know that?!_

**PROLOGUE**

**31st October 1981, 7:30 PM**

Sirius Black stared at the sprawled body of James Potter; his mind in a complete state of turmoil. There was an odd buzz ringing in his ears and he couldn't look away from the open, glassy, terrified eyes of James as he lay in the midst of the remains of the house.

The wand, clenched in his hand for protection, clattered on the cracked floor, as the fight he was armed with was sucked out of his body. His eyes moistened and lips trembled with grief as the reality of the nightmare he stumbled upon struck him deep within his heart scarring it forever.

"James," he whispered. He knelt down and took his friends hands into his own and cringed at the coldness of his skin. He tried to close those glassy eyes but every time he did, the eyelids just rolled back and dead eyes, filled with accusation, glared at him, blaming him for the horror that had engulfed Potter's Cottage.

Tears rolled down his cheeks and he clenched his jaws, trying to keep the river of anguish from breaking through the flimsy dam that was precariously holding it back.

There were questions to be asked, murders to be found but none of that mattered to Sirius right now. He was trapped in a nightmare straight out of his darkest corners of his heart.

The piercing cry of a baby sliced through the haze of grief blinding him and his eyes widened, reigniting with a little bit of hope. "Harry?!" he whispered incredulously. He scrambled to his feet and run up the stair, leaping over the broken sections, not caring if the creaking floor collapsed under him.

The cry came from the nursery room and hope filled his heart when he saw Harry rolling in the intact crib, bawling his eyes out.

Lily lay at the foot of the crib, her eyes too wide and glassy and filled with fear but Sirius purposely didn't look towards her. He knew he would break down if he did. Instead he narrowed his vision to the life that wasn't extinguished and took Harry into his arms. He carefully navigated around the rubble going back downstairs. "I'm here Harry, you don't have to be afraid now," he whispered in the baby's ear, stroking that thick hair that looked so much like James but felt like Lily's.

He was confronted by the huge form of Rubeus Hagrid at the front door before he could leave and he blinked in surprise.

"Hagrid?"

"Sirius," Hagrid said sadly. "Is that…?"

"He's alive," Sirius breathed. "I can't believe it. What are you doing here Hagrid?"

"Dumbledore sent me," he said.

"Dumbledore?"

"He wants me ter take young Harry to 'im."

"What a minute. What? Dumbledore knows what's happened? How? When exactly did this happen?" he said angrily. How long had it been since Lily and James were murdered?!

Sirius was confused. He had simply come by to visit Lily and James like usual and instead found the house in a state of ruins. He had realized that the wards had failed and the Death Eaters had killed Lily and James. They had left Harry alive for some reasons he couldn't fathom given the contents of the prophecy and now Hagrid was here to collect Harry?

"What's going on Hagrid? Why are you here?" he repeated. Wild scenarios were running through his head and he was suddenly wondering how the Death Eaters had found the house in the first place. Potter's Cottage was protected by the unbreakable Fidelius charm and Peter was the secret keeper.

His mind froze and Hagrid's reply didn't register clearly in his mind.

Peter, he thought in horror.

"Peter," he whispered.

"Wha?" Hagrid asked confused. He had just said Dumbledore ordered him to take Harry to Privet Drive, to his surviving family but Sirius was mumbling something about Peter.

Sirius handed Harry over to Hagrid and the huge man took him with the gentleness of a feather. "Look at that scar!" he gasped.

"Here, take my bike," Sirius said strangely, handing over the keys to his precious 'Seriously Sirius' to Hagrid. "You'll get to Dumbledore faster. Tell Dumbledore see him later. There's something I have to do."

"Do what? You alright Sirius?"

Sirius didn't reply and disapparated.

Hagrid frowned and then shrugged. He tickled Harry's stomach making the baby giggle and smiled. "Well we have some time to kill," Hagrid said softly. "Dumbledore wants us to meet him at Privet Drive at twelve. Do you want to fly little man?"

The baby was more interested in playing with the humongous finger that was wrapped around him, keeping him warm against the biting cold that travelled through the ruins of his home.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**31st October 1981, 9:00 PM**

"Survived the killing curse? That's impossible."

"That's the news were getting and Dumbledore has already stepped in."

"We have to get him here right now!"

"We don't know where he is. Potter's Cottage is a mess and we found Lily and James Potter in the remains of the house. I contacted the Aurors and a team took them to Saint Mungos. Apparently Dumbledore decided to leave the clean up to the ministry but already took away the child."

Dmitri Chekov, Head of the Department of Mysteries sighed. This new development had thrown the entire ministry, no, the entire world of magic into a tizzy.

Voldemort, the Dark Lord, who was on the verge of a complete takeover of Magical Britain, was killed and the news said it was a one year old toddler that did it and thus sparing the magical world the rule of a vicious dictator whose ambition for power was limitless.

It boggled the mind. It was impossible. And they had no way to confirm it. They just had Albus Dumbledore's word.

"Sir, we must get the baby to our department as soon as possible," Rachel Sanders, the mind behind the curses division, said urgently. "Surviving a killing curse is no joke and I'm shocked the baby wasn't taken to Saint Mungos right away!"

"There's more to the story Sanders," Chekov said. Like the prophecy for instance, he thought grimly. The prophecy, that fate had allowed Dumbledore to listen who then transferred the memory into the prophecy orb. The rules forbid anyone except those the prophecy concerned to hear the words and Dumbledore refused to share what was told.

Chekov ground his teeth, his jaws tense making Sanders and Jeremy Drake to take a nervous step back.

"Have you spoken to the minister about this?" Sanders asked. She really wanted that baby on her table to examine.

"It's been an hour since the news broke out," Chekov snapped. "Dumbledore and Bagnold are currently in the middle of a press conference. I've scheduled a meeting with the Minister the minute the vultures are done with their questions."

"But Sir," Sanders began.

"Stop getting your knickers in such a twist, Sanders. He'll get here when he gets here. Now leave before you make my head explode."

Sanders scowled and Drake shuffled his feet. But after a glare from their boss, they hurriedly left his office, to discuss this seemingly impossible turn of events.

Chekov sat still in his dingy office, on Level 10, working out the possible scenarios likely to occur during his meet with Minister Bagnold. The most likely outcome wasn't hard to predict when Dumbledore had the Minister wrapped around his dick like a love struck puppy. Regulations were going to be ignored and Chekov was going to be pushed into a corner with nothing. But he had to have the meet regardless. The intention was to gauge Dumbledore, not beg to examine Harry Potter's impossible survival.

"How can you not even consider having the body examined at Saint Mungos Minister?"

"Well Dumbledore said he's fine and he's with his family now," Bagnold said cheerfully. There was a permanent smile on her round face as it was making Chekov sick. She took a sip from the cup of tea on her desk and sighed in pleasure.

"Without even understanding what happened?"

"Harry Potter is alive, Mr. Chekov," Dumbledore said calmly. "The Potter's home was under the protection of the Fidelius charm but it seems their secret keeper, Sirius Black has betrayed them."

"Black?" Chekov said, startled. "Sirius Black? The most hated pureblood in the pureblood community? Are you talking about that Black?"

"It appears he joined Voldemort to redeem himself in the eyes of his family or so he thought," Dumbledore murmured, the disappointment and regret heavy in his voice.

"Regardless, how can you be sure Voldemort was defeated and the Potter kid survived the killing curse?"

"I detected the magic. It's not hard to, you know this Mr. Chekov. Also Voldemort's robe and wand were at the scene. The wand and robe are on the way to your department as we speak so that you can confirm what I have already concluded."

Bagnold gasped and covered her ears every time he who must not be named was mentioned by his name.

"Stop doing the whole Mr. Chekov thing and call me Chekov," he snapped. "Why didn't you take him to the hospital or bring him to the ministry?"

"I examined him, he is fine and he doesn't need the world's attention on him when he can't even say his name properly."

"There are other things to consider, Dumbledore," Chekov hissed. He turned to the minister, "Like Laws for instance," he said accusingly. "The child is now an orphan and the Wizengamot must place him in a home where he will be cared for or else in Madam Trusty's Orphanage. That is, after a medical examination."

"And as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot I am more than capable of being up to the task. The entire Wizengamot need not be bothered," Dumbledore countered smoothly. "I have already submitted the necessary paperwork, appointing Vernon and Petunia Dursley; Lily's sister, as his permanent guardians."

"Just like that?" Chekov scowled.

"Just like that," Dumbledore agreed.

"So how did he survive? Do you have an answer for that too?"

"His mother sacrificed her soul to protect his."

Chekov was momentarily shocked. He recalled everything he knew about sacrifices and realized Dumbledore could be right. "Yes, that could be a powerful counter curse if the deed was overlooked by the caster," he whispered. "But her soul…."

Dumbledore smiled sadly, his expression clear of political manoeuvring; acknowledging the incredible sacrifice and courage Lily Potter had shown in the final seconds of her life. "She loved her son very much," he said softly.

"But we still have to examine him Dumbledore," Chekov said, coming back to the topic at hand. "Who knows how the curse affected his mind or worse, his magic."

"Oh stop this nonsense," Bagnold intervened exasperatedly. "Dumbledore says it's all good. Why so many questions and demands! Let it go, Chekov. The whole world is celebrating, you should too!"

"We are the Department Of Mysteries," Chekov growled. "We can't _just _let it go."

"I'm ordering you to stop your investigation, Chekov," Bagnold said. "Are you going to comply or am I going to have to give it in writing?"

Chekov glared at the woman furiously. "No need," he said stiffly. "Good day Minister," he said and turned on his heel, banging the door on his departure.

His angry expression melted into a pensive smile after he was out of the Minister's floor. Dumbledore was hiding something… that much was obvious. The fact that he overruled every rule in the book to keep the Potter child out of their hands showed how important the boy was going to be. The question that came to mind was: what did Dumbledore gain from it?

The people of the ministry were a blur to him until he reached the revolving wall of doors, leading to the surface of his department. He, however, didn't call for a division and instead went right, towards a hole in the wall that was invisible and undetectable to those without the knowledge of its existence.

The stone floor inclined downward sharply beyond the hole and Chekov continued his walk as the air became damp, old and cold. He drew his robes tighter around his shoulder and his footsteps echoed on the walls of the closed stone corridor until he reached his other office, the one that controlled the department that didn't exist; the Department of Intelligence.

Albert Croaker was waiting for him in the spacious square room which had a low ceiling. It was lit by a crackling fire place adjacent to the narrow entrance and had many wooden cupboards occupying most of the corner space in the room. The walls and ceiling had a faded cream colour and the walls were damp in several places. Opposite the door, against the wall, was his large six legged desk, devoid of any object and four cushioned chairs around it. An annoying musty smell made permanent residence in the room but those who knew about the existence of the room had mentally shut the smell out of their system.

"What news from the scum of the world?" Chekov asked tiredly, sinking into his comfortable chair that was charmed to gently massage the tiredness out of his bones.

"He's gone alright," Croaker said grimly. "He was on his way to take out the Potter's, which Dumbledore in his infinite wisdom, didn't mention to the Auror office."

"Dumbledore knew?"

"He knew that the Potter and Longbottom kid were the targets after Voldemort got wind of the prophecy; which, by the way, we still don't know."

Chekov cursed. "What about the Death Eaters," he asked. "There's bound to be a reaction from them. We have to keep the Aurors well informed or else the casualty count is going to take an unexpected leap."

"The Lestrange's have gone to ground. There's not a drop of information on their location. Malfoy has already surrendered to the Aurors claiming to be under the Imperius curse. He made quite the show of regret and forgiveness and you can guarantee he's not going to be the only one."

"Bagnold is going to fudge this up bad. We have to get Barty to act wisely before Bagnold decides to sweep all the dirt, permanently stained or not, into Azkaban."

For a moment the crackle of the wood burning in the alcove was the only sound to be heard while Croaker waited for Chekov to gather his thoughts.

"Where is Hugo?"

"Rattling every informant that has links to Voldemort's network. Now that Voldemort is gone, his network has lost their solidarity and we're finally getting some legit information."

Chekov sighed.

The whole war against Voldemort had been a giant cluster fuck. They had been unprepared and unequipped to deal with a Dark Lord who had loyal, unbreakable followers and the power to keep wavering ones in line. Even with their contacts in the underbelly of the magical world, not one clue had presented itself before Voldemort took centre stage with the force of a ten foot tsunami. A Dark Lord was bad enough but a self righteous wizard with equal power had to interfere and withhold information that almost led to the collapse of the Ministry of Magic for Great Britain.

Of course, they couldn't complain or even make the vigilante groups back off because the nature of their department was complete secrecy after all. No one could know they existed and that fact was key in the protection of magical Britain from the dozen other threats plaguing it every day apart from ambitious egoistical powerful witches and wizards.

"Keep getting those names to the Barty," Chekov said after a while.

"There's something else," Croaker added. "Hugo says the person who heard the prophecy was Severus Snape."

"Snape," Chekov murmured. "Isn't he the kid who tried to kill the muggleborn family as a part of his initiation? Thomas was it?"

"The very same, the father succumbed to his wounds though and Dumbledore is already claiming he is a spy and was working for him."

"A spy on whose authority?" Chekov snorted. "Take this up to Barty and make sure he get's that arrogant arsehole by the balls." Chekov meant Dumbledore.

"The evidence has gone missing," Croaker said solemnly. "Anything and everything linking Snape to acts of murder and torture have just been erased from the law enforcement archives."

Chekov's eyes were thunderous. "Who did that?" he hissed.

"Mad Eye. He thinks he wasn't seen but one of our recruits in training, Alan Shaw, saw him, followed him and recorded the whole thing."

"Voldemort is out of the picture and Dumbledore is already filling the gaps," Chekov muttered. "Keep the recording orb secret for now. Mad Eye is too valuable to the Aurors to be charged with destruction of evidence."

"We can't deal with Dumbledore and the Death Eaters at the same time Chekov," Croaker said. "Hugo and Charles are already reporting stirrings of anger and revenge. The Death Eaters who haven't surrendered already are planning something big."

"Focus on the Death Eaters," Chekov said. "Find them, update the Aurors and bury them. I'll deal with Dumbledore and his people myself."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**1st November 1981, 10:00 AM**

"There's something terribly wrong with this picture," Chekov grumbled. "Black was convicted without a trail."

"He admitted his guilt and apparently that was enough for Barty. Having to clean up 13 mutilated remains convinced him the law could go to hell."

"No one is even bothering to remember we have laws for a reason," Chekov shouted, banging his fist on the table. "Black, being in league with Voldemort makes no sense at all."

"He didn't deny it; in fact he said nothing at all. The man's had a complete mental breakdown. He's been laughing and sobbing ever since he was caught and Barty and crowd seem to think it's because of the death of his master. No one on the other side knows anything about Black being a Death Eater but no one is denying the possibility," Croaker said. "Unless Black defended himself, or even protested his innocence, there was no way to stop him from ending up in Azkaban."

"Dumbledore didn't defend him? Wasn't Black working for Dumbledore?"

"If Black was given a trial then there could have been the possibility of Dumbledore's vigilante network being exposed. Ever since Black graduated from Hogwarts, he hasn't worked for the ministry or done anything that can be used as evidence to prove he's not a Death Eater. He's been working for Dumbledore and I don't think Dumbledore wants it known publicly, whatever Black was doing for him. He even excused himself from the hearing and stayed away from the ministry until Black was taken away. In the eyes of the ministry, there's no doubt Black is a Death Eater. If we didn't know he was working for Dumbledore then even we would have assumed he turned to the other side."

"Authorisation to use the unforgivable curses is bad enough but convictions without even the illusion of a trail is ridiculous! Not to mention the leaks in the department itself. Bagnold has lost her marbles. She's so ecstatic that Voldemort was stopped under her reign; she's not even giving a shit about the billions of laws being broken by her own people! She needs to be kicked out of office immediately."

"Someone in the department is or rather was working for Voldemort," Croaker murmured, ignoring the irrelevant parts of the outburst. "We've narrowed it down to the Time and Spell division."

"It's the Spell division, no doubt," Chekov said. "The Time division and the Unspeakables working there are almost as old as the ministry. The Spell division is controlled by Bode and…?"

"Rookwood and Bode."

"Keep eyes on them at all times and what of Hugo's Intel?"

"Jugson, Rosier, Gibbon, Karkaroff and the Carrow twins have been confirmed as Death Eaters."

"Are the Aurors acting yet?"

"Rosier and Karkaroff have been spotted in and around Knockturn Alley and Jugson was seen near Crooked Corner."

"Knockturn Alley is already flooded with Aurors but convincing Barty to send men into Crooked Corner is going to be difficult."

"He's getting suspicious as to where this Intel is coming from," Croaker added.

"Make a source then," Chekov snapped. "Don't bother me with insignificant details. You know the rules of this department."

"Hugo sent in some information about the Lestrange's possibly hiding out in Hillingdon."

"What's there in Hillingdon?"

"A couple of pureblood residences; Longbottom, Bones and Smith I think. He thinks they might be hiding out in one of them."

Chekov snorted. "Unlikely but ensure that the houses are searched anyway. What about Charles, Stacy and Higgins?"

"With the amount of chaos our ministry is in, it's almost open season on us," Croaker sighed. "Charles just blew up a monument in Bulgaria to discourage some flunkies from allying with some low level Death Eaters and attacking the ministry. Obviously he pinned it on those morons before leaving. Stacy is in the States and apparently there are elements in their magical government who are very keen on infiltrating the department above us. She has her hands full finding and modifying their memories."

"What about Higgins?"

"His alias, Jonathan Grimsby, has been declared enemy of the state in Transylvania," Croaker said dryly.

"Vampire trouble?"

"They weren't too happy with the demise of Voldemort. He promised them a free reign in Britain in return for an artefact they had in their possession. According to Higgins it was something that belonged to Gryffindor but he hasn't been able to identify what it was. Higgins attacked the Castle Dracula to put down any ideas about attacking us. He says the idea that we're vulnerable was crushed quite spectacularly."

"He was alone?"

Croaker shrugged. "He likes doing things with a bang. He's a lot like Hugo in that manner but Hugo tends to leave his mark in the most violent way possible."

Chekov rubbed his eyes and sighed. He hadn't had time to close his eyes in the last forty eight hours and neither had Croaker. They couldn't afford to sleep until all the threats to their world were brought down to a respectable level.

"It's barely been a day since Voldemort's death and so much has happened already."

"It's going to get worse before it gets better," Croaker said forbiddingly. "I better get back to work. Hugo and Higgins need more gold to get informants to talk and I got to find a way to get it to them."

"I'll keep an eye on the spell division. You focus on the Death Eaters."

"Yes, Sir."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**25th December1981, 4:00 PM, Courtroom 10**

"Well?"

"They were too late," Croaker said darkly.

"Frank and Alice?"

"Tortured until their sanity broke."

Chekov closed his eyes and stopped the tear from forming. "How did we let this happen?" he whispered.

"The Intel about Barty Crouch junior was ignored by the senior," Croaker spat. "Hugo sent it directly to the Auror department, risking our secrecy, knowing the urgency of the matter but they didn't believe it."

"Take Hugo off the payroll for the month," Chekov said; his voice turning cold.

Croaker was shocked. "Are you sure about this? He did it because… well… you know…"

"He knew Alice was my niece and his emotions got the better of him. Whether she was dear to me or not, the information goes through you to the Aurors. Hugo broke the rule and he will be punished accordingly."

"He's not going to be pleased about this," Croaker warned.

"I'm the boss, not him."

Chekov and Croaker were standing at the entrance to court room number ten, watching Barty Crouch sentence his only son while his wife fainted next to him. The Lestrange's showed no regret about what they did and even at the darkest hour of their life, they pledged allegiance to the dark lord.

There were no Wizengamot members present in the court room except for a few law enforcement officials, bought and paid for journalists, Dumbledore and Bartemius Crouch. No one was allowed to defend themselves even if they claimed they were innocent. There was no trial and no evidence except for the word of the Aurors, Dumbledore and anonymous tips. Only those with bags, the size of monsters, filled with gold were let off the hook.

The two Intelligence officers watched without emotion, while Crouch screamed himself hoarse, sentencing alleged criminals and Death Eater, one after the other to Azkaban for life, his son at the top of the list. When Severus Snape turn came, both knew what was about to happen. The man's crimes were ignored in favour of him being a spy for Dumbledore and providing useful information for the betterment of the war.

Chekov snorted at the joke. The only information Snape had provided, resulted in the death of an Unspeakable in the Rune division who was also a promising candidate for recruitment in the Department of Intelligence and the other a major asset to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

But there was nothing they could do to change that without proof.

"What about Alice's son, Neville?"

"They had him under the Cruciatus for about a second. That could be enough to destroy his mind."

"Did it?" Chekov's voice cracked.

"The boy's magic reacted strongly to protect his mind but he's going to find it difficult to use magic in the future."

"Where are we on the Death Eaters who claimed innocence by the means of the Imperius?"

"Malfoy, Yaxley, Crabbe, Goyle, Macnair and Nott have lost close to a hundred thousand Galleons from their vaults in a hurry," Croaker said disdainfully, ticking his fingers with each name. "Dolohov, Greyback, Wilkes, the Carrow's and Rowle are still at large."

"Where did the gold go?"

"No trace of it. Which means it's still floating around."

"Has Stacy put the fear of god into those ambitious American wizards?"

"They're not going to be attempting anything for the next thousand years according to her."

"Put her on the gold case. Find out where the money went. Obviously it's in the ministry and in the hands of someone on the Wizengamot."

"There are fifty members of the Wizengamot. You want her to investigate all of them?"

"Start with the fucktards and work towards the respectable scumbags. Find out how it changed hands, confiscate it and deposit it in our accounts."

"Sir?"

"We're desperately short on funds aren't we?" Chekov muttered.

"Horribly short."

"Gold in this form is as off the books as it gets. The amount of gold available to be picked here will keep us running smoothly for a decade."

"Stacy is going to love this," Croaker chuckled.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**2nd January 1982, 1:00 PM, Hogwarts  
**  
Cheerful and joyful vibes reverberated through the staff room at Hogwarts. All the members of the Order of the Phoenix were in high spirits and the empty bottles of Firewhisky had something to do with it.

"Here's to the end of the reign of terror!" Dedalus Diggle toasted loudly. He banged his smoking goblet on the table and split half its contents.

"Here's to Harry James Potter!" roared Hagrid, crushing McGonagall in his arms.

"Hagrid, you're strangling me!" squealed a half drunk Minerva. Her cheeks were red and she was sweating buckets, her insides heated with Firewhisky.

"Here's to helping pretty witches populate the world!" A boisterous Sturgis Podmore yelled.

He earned a few laughs and smacks for that comment.

Dumbledore tinkled his glass goblet with his fork bringing everyone's attention to him. The room was occupied with Order members only and was missing quite a few witches and wizards who had lost their lives in the struggle against Voldemort.

"It has been a long terrible war and we have lost a lot of friends dear to us. Let us have a minute of silence to remember the pure hearts and indomitable wills that led us to this wonderful day," Dumbledore said softly.

Everyone fell silent and raised their glasses in tribute.

"Dorcas Meadows," Moody said quietly, remembering the incredible witch who was responsible for many a victory against rampaging death eaters.

"Peter Pettigrew," Remus Lupin murmured.

One by one, names were mentioned with voices filled with sorrow and respect.

"Gideon and Fabian," whispered Molly Weasley.

"Lily and James," McGonagall cried.

"Marlene McKinnon." Her name was sobbed by an emotional Hagrid.

"Frank and Alice," Arthur Weasley said hollowly.

"Edgar Bones," Sturgis said, remembering his friend.

"Benjy," Arabella Figg muttered, her head bowed to hide the tears.

"Caradoc Dearborn," wheezed Elphias Doge.

No one mentioned Sirius Black, the traitor responsible for the deaths of Lily and James. Rot in hell bastard, was the thought running through everyone's mind.

"There are many who have fallen in this war and they would not want us to hold on to their names with sadness but with the hope that we cherish their memories and move forth to build the world that they dreamed of."

_"Hear Hear."_

Dumbledore took a sip from his goblet and everyone followed. Slowly, the heavy atmosphere was replaced once again with the light, drunken heartiness and bottle after bottle of Firewhisky was emptied.

In the cheer of the wizards and witches, Severus Snape sat silently in one corner watching everyone with an ugly sneer on his face. He knew he didn't belong here but Dumbledore had insisted he make his presence known and so he found himself amidst cold stares and disgusted looks.

"Is Harry alright?" Lupin asked Dumbledore. The broken werewolf had not touched a goblet of drink or a plate of food.

"He's doing fine," Dumbledore said smiling. "Petunia didn't protest. The loss of her sister hit her hard as well."

Remus nodded but there was something else on his mind and his hesitance was clear to Dumbledore.

"What is it Remus?"

"You know… I think… I mean… I could take Harry and care for him," he said in a rush. "I'm sure Lily and James would not have minded."

"They would love it," Dumbledore said kindly. He put his hand on Lupin's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "But the danger to Harry staying outside the wards is great. The ministry has caught up with most of the Death Eaters but there are those who avoided Azkaban."

"I can protect Harry," Remus said confidently.

"I have faith in your abilities as a wizard Remus. But what about the full moon? Harry will be unprotected and could be attacked."

"I'll think of something," Remus said, but the confidence was fading quickly, bringing back his defeated image.

"Harry is safe, Remus," Dumbledore said gently. "You should worry more about your health. You look terrible."

Remus smiled weakly. "I'll be fine," he said and walked away with an utterly miserable expression.

Dumbledore sighed, his mind overrun with the strings that controlled the magical world. He thought about the deep fissures in the Ministry that needed to be fixed and he thought about Harry and the scar that held the key to peace in the wizarding world. More than once, he wondered if he was doing the right thing but the thought was erased before it could fester when he remembered the prophecy and what it meant.

There was so much left to do but the plan for the future was already set in motion and a weak will was unacceptable. With that resolve he brightened up and beckoned Snape, another idea forming in his mind. Perhaps the misguided youth would come back to the righteous path as a Professor in Hogwarts.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**_A/N: Do you like? _**

**_The Department of Intelligence and Mysteries will be explored in detail as the story progresses along with the various other Departments in the Ministry._**

**_Next Chapter: _**_Mission Recruit Harry Potter._


	2. Mission Recruitment

**MISSION RECRUITMENT**

**31st July 1982**

"What news from Surrey?" Chekov asked, sipping tea from the mug Alice had made for him when she was just eleven.

"Well Drake has failed in every attempt he's made so far. Blood and Sacrifice is as unbreakable as we believed it to be," Croaker said. "Drake almost had complete memory loss when he tried to be too smart and forced the wards to retaliate."

"That's what happens when you're over enthusiastic about things," Chekov said dryly. "I'm just waiting for the day Sanders blows up half the ministry."

Croaker laughed.

"How did Rookwood's interrogation go?"

"Completely brainwashed. The idiot," Croaker said scornfully. "He actually believes in what Voldemort was doing in contrast to his own status as a half blood. He swore on the life of his mother that purification of blood was the only way for the magical world to survive."

Chekov clucked in disappointment. "How did we let him into our department? I'm amazed we ever thought he was a smart wizard."

"He did show a lot of promise but then we all make mistakes sometimes," Croaker said. "Let's not make it again is all I'm saying."

"Anyway, so the school is the only point of entry that we have is it?"

"Depends on when he starts preschool," Croaker said. "We've got eyes on the kindergartens in the area so until the Dursley's enroll their kid we're not going to get a whiff of Potter."

"So we wait," Chekov concluded. "Now let's move on to more important things …"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x- x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

**18th May 1983**

"Alan Shaw, is it?"

"Yes Sir."

Alan Shaw was a fair, five foot ten inches tall graduate of the Auror program who was recruited right after he graduated from Beauxbaton. He had dirty blonde hair, pale blue eyes and was a regular good looking American with a face and body that looked like it was cut out of stone. Didn't have a lot of friends, and those who were his friends were wary of his unemotional state of living. High grades in all his years and top of the class at the Auror academy, nearly setting a record rivalling that of Mad Eye Moody.

Of course now that he had joined the DOI, that record was erased and slowly but meticulously, all traces of his ever being in the Auror academy was removed. People forgot who he was, his parents were convinced that had just one daughter and his identity was burned from every database that existed on the planet, magical and non magical.

"Have you met Mission Commander Croaker?"

"This is my first time meeting him."

"Have you taken the oath?"

"Yes sir, Ms. Stacy ensured I said it without mistake."

"Good, so now you know what we are and what you are from here on out."

"Yes Sir."

"You will be dealing with Croaker at all times. You will answer to no one else except for me but all my orders will be conveyed through your mission commander so this is probably the last time you're going to see me. Good luck and don't screw up."

Chekov patted Shaw on the back, stepped into the fiery hearth casually and suddenly spun out of sight. There was no other way in or out. The mission commander's office was accessible by a special floo network that was hidden by a modified Fidelius charm and it lay beyond Chekov's office and much deeper in the Earth, protected beyond measure.

Croaker cleared his throat, attracting Shaw's full attention. "Do you know who Harry Potter is?"

"Survived the killing curse cast by Lord Voldemort by rebounding it towards him."

"The circumstances around his survival are a mystery and the DOM has a deep interest in unravelling said mystery. Now we suspect the boy will be starting kindergarten next month and your mission is to join the school as a teacher, observe Harry Potter and create an accurate profile of the boy. Do not get close to him and do not attempt to get close to his residence. The wards are powerful and unkind to wizards not friends with Albus Dumbledore."

"Not friends?"

"Only Albus can give permission for magical folk to walk through those wards unharmed. They are powered by the magic of blood and sacrifice. A combination that is unbreakable."

"Do the wards reach the school?"

"They extend along with the boy's movements but they get weaker as the boy get further away. The school, however, is within a range that will keep the wards strong but will discourage you from interacting directly with the boy. You have to figure out a way to circumvent these wards and find a way for us to get to the boy."

"Don't children usually go to preschool when they're four or five?" Shaw asked curiously.

"The Dursley's kid turns three next month and they have high hopes and lot of faith in their son's abilities or so I hear," Croaker said without interest. "Those are unimportant details. What is important, regardless of age, is that we're finally getting a chance to actually look at Harry Potter after nearly two years.

"Now Chekov managed to squeeze a little detail about the prophecy from Dumbledore and the gracious headmaster of a children's school said that the prophecy was fulfilled when Voldemort failed to kill Harry and was obliterated himself. There was nothing more and he couldn't recall the exact wordings…. The old fart."

The squeezing involved a recording orb showing Alastor Moody destroying evidence and then sending a patronus message to Dumbledore. According to Chekov the look on Dumbledore's face was most satisfying. The words of the prophecy were not shared and even the threat of Moody losing his job and his life did not sway Dumbledore.

"Do we believe him?"

"Absolutely not and that is the reason we want you to observe the boy. Do you have any questions?"

"How long do I stay?"

"You stay until you have an understanding of his intelligence quotient, his behaviour with the muggles, areas of study in which he might be talented; his mother was a genius after all and if there's mentally anything wrong with him."

"Mentally as in, did the killing curse fry his brains for good," Shaw asked rhetorically.

"You catch on quick. Any more questions?"

"No Sir."

"Good luck then."

Shaw nodded and stepped into the fireplace. A whisper of a destination later he was gone.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**2nd October 1983**

Footsteps echoed off the walls of the closed stone corridor. Alan Shaw, the new field agent recruited by the Department of Intelligence was on his way to submit his report. He walked along the cold, damp corridor until he reached the end, where instead of Chekov's office; there was a crackling fireplace instead.

"Mission Command," he said, stepping into the fire. There was no floo powder required.

Croaker didn't look up from his desk, on which he was carefully examining a parchment with a powerful magnifying glass. "Well?"

Shaw had a thick file under his arm and he carefully pulled out a bunch of papers and put them in front of Croaker.

"What is this?"

"Draw inside the lines activity for the kids," Shaw replied, his voice steady and tone strong.

"They're horrible," Croaker remarked. Croaker then pursed his lips, waiting for the verdict.

"This," Shaw said, pulling out another white sheet from his file, "Is what Harry Potter did."

Croaker was impressed. The children were supposed to keep the crayons within the dark lines of the dinosaur and all of them failed miserably expect for one. The strokes were flawless, not a dot was outside the lines and different colours were used for different sections of the prehistoric creature.

"Does this make him a gifted artist or one with the potential for greater things?"

Shaw produced more papers from the file and Croakers eyebrow twitched.

"Addition, subtraction and basic multiplication," Shaw said. "It took him less than a week to understand the basics and to put things in perspective, this is second grade stuff."

Croaker whistled but sensed there was more. "Is there a punch line to this or am I going to have to squeeze it out of you?"

This time Shaw removed a photograph and a vial; containing swirling silver mist.

Croakers eyes widened in shock. "Dumbledore!" he exclaimed.

"The kid knocked down a stack of books on his cousin's head, accidental magic of course, after his cousin smacked him in the head with a plastic bat. Three teachers saw it happen and informed the principal who in turn informed the relatives," Shaw grimaced at this point. "Who in turn said Potter was a freak, he must have planned it out and purposefully harmed their little angel."

Croaker snorted.

"Did Dumbledore show up to cover it up?" Croaker asked frowning.

"He did," Shaw said, a hint of a smile appearing on his otherwise emotionless face.

"Unbelievable," Croaker muttered. "In between all the political manoeuvring and strong arming disobedient purebloods, he had the time to visit a school and do the job of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"Curious isn't it," Shaw said, the smile gone as fast as it came. "The DMAC doesn't even have a record of there being accidental magic around Harry Potter. The record was erased just as fast as it came."

"What about the vial?"

"My memories of what I saw before it was wiped clean."

"Any traces?"

"Dumbledore's a genius. I didn't even realize he was there until I saw the photograph in my camera and found the vial in my pockets."

Croaker hummed, steeling his palms. "So _clearly_ Harry Potter is not done with the prophecy."

"Dumbledore lied to us."

Croaker rolled his eyes. "Stop stating the obvious. A prophecy is born and Dumbledore says it's been fulfilled?" Croaker laughed humourlessly.

"What do you want me to do?"

"No luck on finding a way past those wards I imagine," Croaker asked.

"I can't even talk to the boy without employing occlumency and focusing on just teaching him."

Croaker hummed. "Keep watching the boy. Keep testing him and pushing past his limits. The idea that he could be an asset to the department is a tempting one. Also try to get a measure of his magical potential. Oh, and I assume that he's not showing any signs of being affected by the curse?"

"He's perfectly normal. I ensured all the kids had a basic medical check up and so far, except for being under nourished, he's fine."

"Good," Croaker murmured, deep in thought.

"What next?"

Croaker shook the vial of memories like a bell sounding victory. "We now have more leverage," he smirked.

"It's not enough to get him to back down," Shaw observed. "All it says it Dumbledore has an interest in the boy who lived and he personally showed up to ensure his safety in a school of muggle children. Exposing the truth exposes us."

"Which is why you're still watching him," Croaker said sharply. "What's your opinion on the idea of recruiting a toddler?"

"The kids smart. He enjoys learning and he's already showing signs of being leagues ahead of his own age group. If the department decides to condition him from such a tender age, he'd be an incredible talent to us."

Croaker steeped his fingers and frowned, mentally weighing the pros and cons of attempting to raise a child within the department. "For now determine without a shred of doubt that it would be in our best interests to recruit Harry Potter. Mathematics and cute art is not going to cut it. Once we're a hundred percent on this I'll take the proposal up to Chekov."

Shaw nodded and left.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**31st July 1984**

Footsteps echoed on the walls of the closed stone corridor. Alan Shaw, Harry Potter's art's teacher, the loveable man who won over the hearts of every mother with kids in the school, was on his way to submit his final report.

Croaker and Chekov stood behind the desk, waiting patiently.

"Well?"

"His grades have dropped," Shaw said without preamble. "He's becoming more withdrawn and a target for bullies."

"Why?"

"I can't enter Privet Drive."

"Go on."

"He yearns to learn. But then he looks at his cousin and closes up."

"Abuse?"

"No visible signs."

"Mental abuse then."

"No doubt about it. I believe it started after the first accidental magic incident."

Chekov sighed.

"What's the play?" Shaw asked. "It's obvious what's going on here."

Croaker snorted. "Wasn't it from the start?"

"Cut the cross talk and give me a plan," Chekov said sharply. "Dumbledore's conditioning the boy. We get it. We do it all the time and he does it all the time. What I want to know is, _is_ Harry Potter worth our time?"

"I think he's a Metamorphmagus," Shaw added.

Stunned silence perforated through the room. They had one potential Metamorphmagus in their recruitment network and another would be an incredible asset.

"You're sure about this?"

Shaw hesitated. "It's a suspicion," he admitted.

"Based on what facts?"

"I've seen him get pummelled by his cousin's friends. They beat him like you would beat a rabid Hippogriff, but never once, have I seen a glimpse of a bruise or the faint sign of injury on him."

"Hardly convincing," Croaker scoffed.

"We can make him everything this department desires," Shaw pressed. "He's intelligent. And by intelligent I don't mean smart, I mean fucking super smart."

Croaker and Chekov raised their eyebrows at the unexpected praise. Was Shaw getting emotional over this? The question was running through both their minds.

"And no, I could care less," Shaw said, recognizing the expressions. "But I've been watching this kid for a little over a year now, and I can tell you he's got the potential for greatness. But whatever plans Dumbledore has for him, they don't involve exploiting the kids mind, on the contrary, his intellectual capabilities are being carefully beaten into the deepest corners of his mind where they will stay, never to be brought out again."

Chekov turned to Croaker. "Will he be an asset or a liability to our secrecy?"

"The boy who lived can get into places through the front door instead of the back," Croaker muttered. "Politicians would sacrifice their balls to get a hold of him and if we let them while he is ours, then it works in our favour immensely."

"But first we have to find a way to get through those wards. Kidnapping is out of the question; before you can suggest it. Dumbledore's got every corner locked tight. The only way we take him is the legal way."

"Ministry?" Shaw asked.

Both Croaker and Chekov laughed. "I keep forgetting you're still new here," Chekov said, shaking his head in mirth.

"So who do we report to, if you don't mind me asking?"

Croaker answered, looking him straight in the eye. "The Ministry."

"Back to topic," Chekov commanded.

"We need to get to the Dursley's," Shaw said. "Perhaps a lottery trip to a foreign country where Harry Potter is left behind?"

"It's worked for us in the past but Harry Potter is too high profile. Dumbledore will dedicate his life to tracking him down and returning him to the Dursley's if Potter still has something to do with the prophecy."

"Why is Dumbledore such a problem?" Shaw asked. He was new here, Chekov had made that point many times in the past year and he had never asked questions beyond his authority but this time he felt he was deep enough to know.

"Dumbledore is a politician," Croaker said gravely. "He is the head of the World Defence League, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the head of the International Confederation of Wizards."

"When something interests a man like that, it's only because it benefits him. When he takes measures like this, then you can imagine how significant it must be."

"Does that make the most famous wizard of our time against us?"

"To talk about Dumbledore would be to talk about a century of power struggles," Chekov said. "Find us a way to legally get to Potter and then the file on Dumbledore will be on your desk."

"Is that understood?"

"Crystal, Sir."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**1st September 1984**

Shaw quit the school the day after his report on the progress of Potter and switched the mode of his mission to watching and profiling Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

Dumbledore's wards extended beyond the limits of the school and it was thanks to mind bending occlumency training that he was able to prevent the wards from convincing him to turn and run far away from the reach of the wards. The school was as far as he could get and beyond that there was no penetrating the wards. He could not interact with the Dursley's, he could not get anyone to do it for him and he could not even locate the accurate address of the house Harry Potter lived in. Dumbledore was thorough with locking out Harry Potter from the world of magic.

But he was not thorough enough and he underestimated the lengths to which the Department of Mysteries was willing to go to, to get to Harry Potter. Of course, it was the Department of Intelligence that was doing all the work and that gave them a vital advantage over Dumbledore.

Shaw was able to teach Harry, although he was unable to string words unrelated to teaching when it came to talking with the boy. He could observe but never interfere.

Observation was enough.

It wasn't hard to understand all there was to the guardians of Harry Potter. Vernon Dursley deeply loved his wife and kid, he loved his job and his ambition was to one day become the marketing director of the company he worked for and maybe even start his own company. On the other side of things, he was a racially prejudiced, hated anything that didn't fit into his limited way of life and he detested anything that went against the teachings of his Church.

Shaw found it easy to dislike the man.

Petunia Dursley on the other hand, was a woman with a superiority complex a mile wide. Her dream was to one day stand above all her neighbours and superficial friends and be able to look down on them from the highest pedestal she could imagine. Her routine ran like clockwork and her shopping list never varied unless there was a special occasion. In that case the list for special occasions was set in stone as well. Her list never changed, her attitude never changed and she would create a scene if the item on her list was unavailable at her preferred Hypermarket.

Shaw wondered if this was the kind of assignment all field agents were given on their first outing after training.

After a month of observation and planning, it was time to set the ball in motion and Shaw, disguised as a priest, walked into Grunnings Drill Manufacturers. Father Illiosis walked to the reception area with a roll of pamphlets under his arm. He was dressed in a poor quality, worn out suit and rang the bell at the reception. He knew, right at this moment, Vernon Dursley was in a meeting with the managing director and with a saintly expression on his face, Father Illiosis requested a meeting with the MD.

**_It was time to dangle the bait._**

The man at the reception couldn't refuse a man of god and immediately ushered him to the conference room, wondering what this man of faith could want with a company that manufactured drills.

The priest introduced himself and launched into an animated explanation about why he was here and Vernon Dursley was captivated by this man who spoke about children with unusual predispositions. Vernon felt like god himself, had sent this man to Grunnings after what his freak of a nephew had pulled off at the school this time. A teacher, who was uncharacteristically mean to Harry, had her hair turned green and there was a hullabaloo in the school because of it. But Vernon knew, he knew it was the boy who did it even though there was no proof and even though the boy was in a different classroom at the time, Vernon knew, the freak was responsible for the incident even though it had been written off as a hair product disaster by the women.

And now, a priest, a man of god, was advertising for a gathering where supposedly incurable children were cured of all the bad things that ailed them! He looked at his boss and frowned at the scepticism on his face. Of course, he thought in disgust. His boss was an atheist. He believed in his own work and didn't credit a supernatural power for his success.

The Father was politely turned down and respectfully asked to leave but before his boss could stop him, Vernon stood up abruptly and dragged his overweight body towards the priest as fast as he could.

"Father Illiosis! Father Illiosis!" he panted, out loud.

"Yes? Mr….?"

"Dursley, Vernon Dursley."

**_Good, the prey was attracted._**

The spell was broken, Shaw thought in satisfaction. Vernon had made first contact and now he could speak freely, but there was no need to. Not if everything went according to plan.

"What can I do for you Mr Dursley?"

"Why did you come to Grunnings of all places? I mean why now? Why here?"

The incident with the hair had really unbalanced Vernon, Shaw thought grimly.

"I go where ever god needs me to go, Mr Dursley," Shaw said serenely. "Wherever there are children who need to be touched by god and his goodness, I will be there."

"I… I have a nephew," Vernon began nervously. "He's four and he… he's uh… he's been touched by the devil."

Shaw was silent, waiting for the man to continue and say the words.

"Abnormal things happen around him… things that the church frowns upon… things that any decent human being would frown upon… … will… could you help him Father Illiosis? Can you get rid of the devil inside him?"

Shaw raised his arm and put his hand on Vernon shoulder, his eyes radiating compassion and understanding. "Bring him to the gathering my child," Shaw said softly. "And there, we will make it better for you forever."

There were tears of joy in Vernon's eyes and he took the pamphlet offered to him by Shaw.

"I trust I will see you on the 4th of this month?"

"Without a doubt," Vernon said enthusiastically.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**4th September 1984**

The Church Shaw chose for this operation was not grand and was located in Pulborough, East Sussex, where there was no magical presence whatsoever. The Church was just like any other building in the village except for the large cross at the apex of distinctive triangular roof of the building and the large idol of Jesus Christ inside. Light streamed through the beautiful stained glass windows and the inside was very spacious and lined with rows of long wooden benches.

About twenty children and their parents had already turned up and Shaw was waiting for Harry Potter and Vernon Dursley. The event happening in the church was real. The children and parents who had turned up were invited just like Vernon was and Father Briggs, a real priest and a good man, was in charge of blessing the sick and rowdy children whom the parents had brought to be cured of the ailments.

Shaw's only purpose in the church was to get Harry Potter to become a ward of the Department of Mysteries.

**_Was the bait attractive enough?_**

His expression flickered, showing a hint of relief, when Vernon Dursley and Harry Potter walked into the church, fifteen minutes after the scheduled time.

Vernon was holding Harry's hand tightly and Shaw could see the child holding back tears because of the bone crushing grip on his feeble fingers. There was fear written all over the face of the boy and Shaw recognized it was fear of punishment for entering the Church.

For the first time since the mission began, he felt the tiniest feelings of anger towards Albus Dumbledore for allowing a child to grow up in such an environment, even if his plans vaguely had the best interests of the magical world. But that tiny sliver of anger disappeared when he remembered that Harry Potter was just one in a million kids like him and he focused his mind at the task at hand.

"Thank you for coming Mr. Dursley," Shaw said politely, shaking the man's hand. "And this is?"

"Harry Potter," Vernon said at once, his voice tense.

"Pleasure to meet you little man," Shaw said kindly. He was in disguise of course. It wouldn't be much of a covert mission if Harry recognized him as his school teacher.

Harry looked at him, his eyes filled with curiosity and a million questions regarding his presence at the Church but he held it all in, looked down at his shoes and held out his hand.

Shaw noticed that there wasn't a single mark of Vernon's grip on his hands. He took the tiny hand and shook it gently.

"This might take longer than I expected," Shaw said grimly to Vernon.

"What do you mean? Can you cure him?"

"Do you mind if Mr. Potter and I talk in private, Mr. Dursley?" Shaw said.

"I… I don't think that's a good idea."

It had taken hours and a terrible row with Petunia until he was able to get her permission to get Harry to the gathering. It was worth a shot, he kept repeating and screaming until she finally gave up and told him to do whatever the hell he wants.

Shaw looked around and Vernon followed his gaze and it lingered on the other Priest who was quietly addressing the other parents. Vernon wondered why he was kept out of the group and as soon as that thought crossed his mind Shaw leaned in to whisper in Vernon's ear. "He needs to be cleansed of the evil's plaguing him," he whispered sensing the variety of thoughts in the man's mind which worked to his advantage. "I cannot spook the devil inside him."

Vernon's eyes widened in fear.

"May I Mr. Dursley?" Shaw asked again, loud and clear.

"O-of course! Please do!"

**_Do not spring the trap prematurely._**

Shaw smiled at Harry and took him to one of room behind the stage, where Father Briggs was beginning his sermon. Vernon followed and Shaw told him to wait outside the door while he _spoke_ to Harry.

The room behind the door was the office of the priest and consisted of a portrait of god and one flimsy table surrounded by three chairs; One for the priest and two for visitors.

Shaw made Harry sit in one and he took a seat in the other.

"Are you going to hurt me?" Harry asked and Shaw, for the first time got a good look at what Harry Potter was. He was painfully thin. His shirt was covering bones and his pants were three sizes too large for him. His hair was pushed to one side in an effort to make it look neat but it just stuck up diagonally. His eyes were a unique green and they were looking at the floor, avoiding eye contact with a man, who he thought was going to hurt him.

"I want to give you this," Shaw said.

Harry raised his eyes to the table curiously and then his eyes widened dramatically.

In the middle of the desk was a book, titled 'Puzzles and Riddles.'

"Do you want it?"

Harry just stared at the book hungrily and didn't make an attempt to take it.

"You can have it and many more if you do one thing for me."

Seconds turned to minutes and Harry didn't move a muscle. There was fear, desperation and longing in his eyes and Shaw just waited. He had to allow Harry to say the words. He could see the train of thought travel from fear to suspicion to craving to intrigue until it reached a state where he was able to summon the nerve to speak for himself.

Ten long minutes later, "What do I do?" Harry whispered.

Shaw smiled.

"There's another door behind you. I want you to go there and when I call you again, I want you to scream and act like a madman."

This time Harry's eyes met Shaw's and there was no fear. There was just puzzlement and bewilderment at the odd request.

Shaw had to keep it simple, he could not waste time trying to make Harry understand something he needn't understand until the deed was done.

"I won't call your name but there is a bulb above the door. It will blink red and at that moment I want you to run into this room, screaming. Do you understand?"

"Why?" Harry asked confused.

Shaw just pointed towards the book and then removed another from the drawer. The new one was titled Prehistoric Beasts.

"Will you do as I ask, Harry?"

Harry nodded, his eyes attracted to the cool dinosaur on the cover of the book. If he could read the book he didn't mind doing what this strange man asked.

"Good, now go and wait. It won't be long."

Harry slowly walked towards the door, his small body taking it's time and he kept looking back at Shaw and the books on the table, wondering if this was all just a dream.

Once Harry shut himself in the room where the priest slept Shaw went and let Vernon into the room.

"Well?" Vernon demanded impatiently. "Is he cured?"

"Please have a seat Mr. Dursley," Shaw said tersely and the worry in his voice made Vernon anxious.

"Where is the boy?"

**_Spring the trap._**

"Mr. Dursley there is something very wrong with your nephew," Shaw said severely.

"W-wr-wrong? What do you mean?"

Vernon was frightened. Outside the Priest was blessing every child that was brought to him but his nephew had been pulled aside as if the Priests knew he was a freak and his worst fears were coming true.

"Darkness Mr. Dursley," Shaw said gravely. "That child will bring misfortune wherever he goes."

Vernon's moustache quivered. This was a bad idea, he realized. Petunia was right. "I have to take care of him," he muttered. "Maybe I should leave. This was a bad idea."

"Your family could be in danger Mr. Dursley."

"Is he dangerous?!" Vernon gasped.

"By taking him in, you are not doing yourself a favour in gods eyes Mr. Dursley."

Vernon gaped.

"And I think you must let me have the boy so that your sins may be cleansed."

"What? What are you saying?! What is this? I have no idea what you are talking about…!" Vernon was panicking, he was beginning to rant uncontrollably and fear was taking root deep inside his heart.

**_Reinforce the trap and kill thoughts of escape._**

At that very moment Shaw pressed a button under the desk and to his delight Harry burst out of the room, screaming his head off, waving his arms like a madman and running straight towards Vernon.

Vernon almost had a heart attack when terror gripped his heart in a vice grip as a clearly mad Harry Potter ran straight towards him.

Shaw burst into action. He jumped over the table, grabbed the screaming Harry and took him back to the room and shut the door.

"Well done Harry! Well done!" he said softly.

Harry was panting. Blood was pounding in his ears and whatever Shaw was saying was turning into a strange buzz in his head. His head was forced up and Shaw looked into his eyes.

Shaw realized that the sudden sight of Vernon must have really terrified Harry and he put the book of riddles and puzzles into Harry's hands.

"Wait here and do not come out alright?" he whispered.

Harry just nodded shakily, his body trembling violently. His eyes caught sight of the book in his hand and slowly his terror was brought down but he was still shaking.

Shaw went back out and Vernon was purple with rage. "What the bloody hell was that!" he shouted. "You tell me right now or god help me I will…"

"You will what Mr. Dursley?" Shaw said sharply, taking his seat behind the table. "That boy is dangerous and I'm offering you a chance to get rid of him before he hurts your family. What is it that is stopping you Mr. Dursley?"

The anger slowly ebbed away and with a heavy sigh, Vernon sat down. "Bad things will happen if I give the boy away," he said miserably. "I can't tell you the truth Father, or else my family will get hurt."

Shaw leaned forward, concern written all over his face. "Is someone threatening you?"

"Worse," Vernon mumbled.

"What do you mean? If they find out Harry is no longer with you then they will hurt you? Who are they Mr. Dursley?"

"They say keeping Harry with us protects us more than him. Bad people want to hurt us and apparently the boy keeps them away."

**_Deliver the final blow._**

"Wizards," Shaw whispered and Vernon was shocked.

"What did you say?" he whispered, unable to believe the word that had come out of the priest's mouth.

"A secret society, hidden from the world," Shaw breathed. "That child has magic and thus he is evil in the eyes of god. The magical world is a product of the devil Mr. Dursley and we know all about them. If you let me help you I will make sure you never have to hear from them again."

"H-how?"

Shaw removed a bunch of papers from the drawer. "We have a protection system for innocent families who get burdened with magical children. You are not the first family to be forced to care for such a child," Shaw said grimly. "It is a trend with these people. They force innocent families to deal with the child and when they are eleven year old, they will come to take them away. You will be forced to care for the child until they feel like taking responsibility for it."

"They are monsters Mr. Dursley and if you allow me, I will help you get them off your backs forever."

"How?" Vernon whispered hopefully.

"Legally sign him over to our care," Shaw said, pushing the papers towards Vernon. "And to ensure they don't suspect a thing, you must adopt a similar looking child, a good non magical child for whom you can love instead of a freak."

"I have to talk with my wife first," Vernon said, doubt clouding his mind once more.

**_Still struggling? Go for the heart._**

Shaw stood up, his expression fierce. "This is no joke Mr. Dursley. You saw what just happened. The boy tried to kill you! Are you the man of the family or not? Make the decision Mr. Dursley. You life depends on it."

Vernon's breathing became faster and his heart beat faster. He had always let Petunia make the decisions for the family. If he had had things his way, the boy would have been at the doorsteps of an orphanage the moment they found him at _their_ doorstep. If things would have gone his way, they would have been in the States and he could have been the vice president of the main Grunnings office, instead of languishing as the sales manager head in the local branch. If things would have gone his way, Dudley could have been in the finest preschool in the country if Petunia hadn't refused.

His face hardened and he took the pen Shaw offered him. He was the man of the house and it was time Petunia knew it.

"Where do I sign?"

Shaw showed him the spots and five minutes later they were done.

"What now?" Vernon asked. He felt like a huge burden has suddenly lifted off his shoulders and his faith in god and belief in his existence was reinforced ten times over.

"Now we go to an orphanage close by and you get to choose a four year old child to replace the monster you had living with you all this time."

Three irksome hours later, Vernon was getting back into his car, with a black haired boy, scarcely similar to Harry Potter; the only common features being the thick black hair and round powerless spectacles framing his eyes.

"Remember Mr. Dursley," Shaw said. "Your wife must sign those papers and accept the situation or else all our work will be for naught."

Vernon nodded.

"This is the will of god and your chance to live a life of love and peace."

"I understand," Vernon said softly. He was holding the new Harry's hand like it was a delicate piece of glass.

"Take this as well." Shaw gave Vernon a metal tube, closed at both ends. Inside the tube was Harry's blood and the insides of the tube was engraved with runes that pointed all magical devices looking for Harry Potter to the tube of blood.

"What is it?"

"A blessing from god," Shaw said. "Keep it in the room you kept your nephew in and never remove it."

Vernon wanted to ask more questions but he held his tongue.

"It will ensure that the wizards never darken your footsteps again," Shaw said, putting Vernon's mind to ease. "Have a good life Harry," Shaw said to the newly adopted boy.

The slightly pudgy boy nodded shyly.

"I had to pull a lot of strings to make this happen and you need to know child services might come to your house after a month to check up on young Harry Potter."

"We will give him the best care in the world," Vernon swore and with a burden less smile, he helped Harry get into the car and drove away.

**_Mission almost accomplished._**

Shaw sighed. It was time to break the news to the real Harry Potter.

He walked back into the church and Father Briggs was still in the middle of conferring with the parents and imparting valuable advice on how to deal with their children's problems. He entered the back room and found Harry still engrossed in the book of prehistoric animals.

His lips were moving silently as he absorbed every word that the book spoke. He didn't hear Shaw come in but he did notice his presence when the book was gently pulled out of his hands.

"Hey!" he protested angrily, but then he remembered what happens when he protests and he quickly closed his mouth and looked to the floor.

This was a critical moment if Harry was going to become a part of the DOI. Shaw pushed the book back into his hands and waited.

Harry looked up, stunned. Such a thing had never happened before and it baffled his mind.

"If you had a choice," Shaw said slowly. "Would you come with me, where you can read all the books you want or would you want to go back to your uncle and aunt?"

"You," Harry said quickly. It was an instinctive response. His soul rejected the idea of returning to the Dursley's and for better or worse, he would jump at the chance to leave that house that caused him so much pain and he did.

Shaw led Harry to a van parked out back and nudged the boy into the back seat, where a couple of other puzzle books were lying in wait, to keep him occupied during the long journey. Magic was to be kept a secret until the mission was complete.

They drove all the way to the Ritz Hotel at 150 Piccadilly, London, where Shaw had already booked a Suite, having complete confidence in completing his mission. He led an awestruck Harry through the grand hall and up the elevator which frightened Harry, and to the Executive Suite that he had booked for a couple of days.

The idea behind the expensive room was to show Harry the difference between them and the Dursley's and make the boy truly believe that he was on his side. He was there to take care of him and never hurt him again, not that he really cared.

"Stay here, enjoy the books and there's cartoons on the telly," he said to Harry. "If you want to eat there are chocolates, sandwiches and juice in the fridge. I'll be back in an hour so make yourself comfortable but don't leave the room alright?"

"Yes," Harry mumbled, his eyes alternating between Shaw and the remote. He was waiting for the moment when this man left so that he could watch the telly. As far as he could remember, all he had ever seen on the telly were bits of images as he was led to his cupboard and lots of exciting sounds through the cracks in the cupboard under the stairs and being in this room with all these luxuries thrilled him to the bone.

As soon as this strange priest whom he suspected was not really a priest left the room, the television was turned on and channels were being browsed at maniacal speeds with a gleeful expression on his baby face.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Footsteps echoed on the walls of the closed stone corridor, lit only by marble sized green balls that showed the way while darkness suffocated the narrow corridor. The air was musky and damp and irritated the lungs of anyone who walked in them, until they got used to it.

Alan Shaw, the man who penetrated through Dumbledore's wards, walked towards Dmitri Chekov's office to deliver his final report on the mission to recruit Harry Potter.

The Head of the Department, Dmitri Chekov; Mission Commander, Albert Croaker; and Senior Field Officer, Hugo Milner were seated around Croaker's desk, waiting for Shaw.

"Well?"

Shaw placed the magical contract on the table for them to see.

Milner pulled on his joint and blew sweet smelling smoke from his nostrils lazily. "A simple yes or no will do kid," he said, his voice deep and gruff.

"The Aunt is yet to sign. It should take Dursley about five more minutes to reach home after his short detour at the market and another fifteen to get her to sign it."

"Quite the bold plan this," Chekov muttered.

"Relax boss," Milner said, blowing smoke on his face.

"Get that shit out of my face Hugo," Chekov said scowling.

Hugo just rolled his eyes and took another drag.

This was the first time Shaw was meeting the infamous Hugo Milner and he observed the man curiously. He was about six feet tall, unshaven angular face, misty grey eyes, dark brown hair hanging above his eyebrows and extending to back of his nape, brown complexion and simple clothes.

Suave was the first word that came to mind and the next sent a chill through his spine.

This man was not normal, he concluded warily, when those odd eyes turned towards him lazily. A shiver of fear slithered down his spine and he was sure those eyes were not of this world.

He refocused his attention on the legal documents and waited.

Everyone waited patiently for the signature to come and exactly fifteen minutes later, Petunia Dursley signed her name on the document, effectively putting Harry Potter in their custody, the muggle and magical way. Dumbledore made a big mistake when he didn't legally appoint himself guardian of Harry Potter and the Department of Intelligence had just scored a massive victory over the political behemoth.

**_Mission Accomplished._**

Milner stood up and brushed the ash off his shirt and stubbed the joint on Croaker's desk earning a withering glare from the mission commander.

"Where's the kid?" Milner asked and Shaw was startled.

"What?" Was this the man the department was assigning to watch Harry Potter?! he thought incredulously.

"We have a plan that doesn't involve you Hugo," Chekov growled. "You might be off duty for now but I don't think you're the man to raise the kid. He needs parents and proper guidance."

"Chill the fuck out, Cheko," Hugo said nonchalantly. "What the department needs, I can deliver."

"Hugo," Croaker warned. "This is the boy who lived. There's a prophecy that needs to be heard first before any other decision is taken. We've never recruited out of the crib before and your infinite wisdom needs to take a back seat right now."

Hugo sighed. "Fine, fine," he grumbled. "We'll hear the prophecy and then I'll take him under my wing." Hugo sniffed his armpits and grimaced. "So to speak," he added jokingly.

"Hugo," Chekov growled.

"You don't need to deeply analyse this boss," Hugo said firmly. "I know what you're afraid of and I can guarantee you have every right to fear it. But you also know that I'm the best at what we do and under me, he'll be even better. An agent conditioned at the age of four and a possible Metamorphmagus to boot? Did you really think I would pass this up?"

"You think too highly of yourself Hugo," Chekov sighed. This was the problem with having people with superior intelligence under your command, he thought irritably. They also came with ego's the size of continents. But as much as he hated to admit it, Hugo was right and wrong. Hugo was the perfect man to raise the kid but none of them could predict what kind of an agent he would grow up to be.

"He's in Executive Suite 7 at the Ritz," Croaker said. "Get him to the prophecy room."

"Excellent," Hugo said grinning in anticipation and then he strolled out through the fireplace, heading back to the surface and to introduce himself to Harry Potter.

Chekov rubbed his forehead tiredly and Shaw had to ask, "What exactly are you afraid of with Milner?"

"Recklessness," Croaker grumbled.

Shaw blinked.

"Pot addict with an unhealthy love for explosives," Chekov added.

Shaw smiled. "Apart from the pot smoking, isn't the rest part somewhat a part of the job description?"

"Secrecy becomes difficult when explosives are involved. We try to keep it to a minimum but Hugo seems to think explosives explosively keep our existence a secret," Croaker said humorously.

Chekov on the other hand just glared at Shaw. "Dumbledore's file is on your desk. Read it, commit it to memory if you wish and get back to Croaker for your first mission."

"First?"

"This was the test and you passed with flying colours."

Shaw gaped. "A two year mission this important was a test?"

"We would have been disappointed if Harry Potter was kept out of our grasp but it wouldn't have meant our existence becomes meaningless. Our job is far more complicated than worrying about the ambitions of powerful wizards in our corner of the world and soon you will come to realize how vast this world really is. This mission taught you to consider every mission, low in priority or high, as important as your own life. This mission lasted two years? The coming ones will last even longer."

Alan Shaw was stunned. It was the first time he was this shocked and Chekov merely smiled.

"Welcome to our Department Shaw."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_A/N: No offense meant to Religion._


	3. Mission Lightning Bolt

**MISSION LIGHTNING BOLT**

**_The Ritz_**

Milner reconstructed his image of the genius kid he had in mind, when he saw the four year old sitting on the bed, his tiny legs spread out with candy wrappings between them. Chocolate was smeared all around his lips and cheeks and his eyes were glued, unblinking, to the television which had cartoons on. Milner recognized it as the Road Runner Show.

The few books that Shaw had brought him were lying unopened and untouched while the kid kept giggling when something violent happened on the cartoon show.

"Well at least he's enjoying violence," Milner thought, maybe there was some hope yet. He cleared his throat loudly to announce himself.

His presence was realized and a pair of excited green eyes scrunched and turned curious as to the identity of yet another stranger.

"You're Harry Potter right?" Milner asked rhetorically, that ugly scar was noticeable to anyone short of being completely blind.

Harry nodded hesitantly. He turned back to the telly; the cartoon was reaching its climax of madness.

"My name is Hugo Milner and I'm going to be your new guardian. You can forget about the Dursley's and come with me to your new home."

"…"

"Oh for godsake look at me! I was led to believe you were supposed to be smart!"

Harry turned around and scowled. "I am smart."

Hugo removed his wand from his back pocket and summoned the remote.

Harry gasped in surprise.

"Hey!" he whined when the television was turned off.

"Let's go."

"I'm not going with you anywhere," Harry said angrily. "Where is the fake priest?!"

"Fake priest?" Milner laughed. "Caught onto that did you? Well, well, well, you are smart after all."

"Give me the remote!"

Milner grinned. This was going to be fun after all, he thought, cackling in his mind. He turned the telly back on they were just in time for the 'The End.' Harry began to complain and whine about the cartoon being over and how it was all his fault and he went on and on about how Milner was a mean person and he wanted Shaw back.

"Oh shut up, Harry Potter," Milner said, interrupting the tirade. "You can watch your cartoons once we get to where we need to get. Now the fake priest sent me and told me to get you. Do you want to come or do you want to try and watch those cartoons back at the Dursley's house?"

Milner blinked and Harry was by his side, pleading with his eyes not to send him back. He felt a little guilty for scaring the kid.  
"Hold my hand and do not let go."

Harry did as he was told and the next moment a bucket of panic struck him when the world around him turned black and began to squeeze him from all sides, turning his body into an elastic material that was being pulled through a narrow pipe.

A second later it was over and his body popped back to its correct proportions.

All the chocolate he had ingested was regurgitated on Chekov's boots. He coughed and gasped while tears leaked out his eyes as more chocolate rose out of his stomach and onto Chekov's robes.

Milner suppressed a smile at Chekov's disgusted face.

"I hope you warned him and gave him a little explanation Hugo," Croaker said disapprovingly and vanished the fluids from his robes and boots.

"Experience is better than silly explanations Albert," Hugo said.

"What was that?!" Harry gasped.

"That was magic. Magic is real," Hugo said quickly, before Croaker or Chekov could begin their never ending theories and details. "We travelled from one place to another instantly."

Harry covered his mouth when he felt his stomach rumble again and threw up, this time away from Chekov or anyone else in the room.

After his nausea subsided Harry took in the details of his surroundings. He was in a small room, brightly lit with blue tube lights and there was an abnormally large mirror covering the entire section of one of the walls. A gleaming steel table was bolted to the centre of the room and there was a steel chair on either side of the table.

Harry had to crank his neck back to look at the people around him. The man he threw up on had blinding white hair, closely cropped. He had lines of old age all over his face and under thin eyebrows were scary icy blue eyes that were looking down at him with interest.

The man standing next to him had brown skin and black hair that was neatly pushed to one side. His brown eyes looked far more welcoming and kind as compared to the other.

He turned around and noticed a woman but her face was hidden behind the shadow of the hood over her head. Harry gulped at the sinister feeling that chilled his bones when he looked into the darkness of her face.

The last was the man who brought him and every time Harry looked at him, he was drawn into those misty grey eyes that just couldn't be real.

They all wore dark blue robes, except for Milner, with a strange symbol of a head with closed eyes, completely hairless and stitched lips. It freaked Harry and he was beginning to wonder if he should have gone back to the Dursley's and locked himself in the cupboard without complaining.

"If the boy is done with his observations can we move along?" the woman said. Her voice literally rattled through the air and had a low, husky, menacing quality to it. Harry knew she was a woman because of the drooping sacks bulging out of her chest.

"Magic?" Harry asked finally, bewildered. His mind was finally up to speed with all the odd things that were happening to him today. He was taken to a church, a place where he was forbidden to enter as reminded by his uncle every Sunday. There a priest gave him books, told to him act mad and then took him showed him things that could only be dreams out of heaven! He ate chocolates without the fear of getting hit and watched cartoons without the dread of getting belted. Then another weird man used magic to take him to a room with scary people looking down at his small stature and _magic_, the word that made the Dursley's go fanatical, was the common thing holding all the weirdness together.

He couldn't understand what was happening. He had come to a conclusion but it was too preposterous for his mind to accept.

Milner sighed and pushed Harry ahead and guided him along with a firm grip on his shoulder. "You want to lead us to the orb Chang?" he said to the woman.

The bright lights dimmed to a pale glow, coming from torch brackets hanging on the walls as they entered the main entrance to the Department of Mysteries. The room they had just left served as an interrogation room for hardened criminals and was used by the department of Magical Law Enforcement when they required the unique help of the DOM. It also served as an apparition point before facing the circular wall that revolved the doorways to various Mysteries or going down to the Court Rooms from the right.

The entrance was a large stone walled room and the low temperature of the surrounding air made Harry move closer to Milner. He was really afraid but he couldn't will himself to make a run for it or even protest. He had no idea what these people wanted from him and he wished he was back in the hotel room watching cartoons.

"We're not going to hurt you child," Croaker said as warmly and comfortingly as possible. "Everything will be explained to you but there's something we need to do first alright?"

Harry nodded.

"Hall of Prophecies," Chang hissed and the wall began to rotate with a loud clang and clatter. It stopped after a few seconds and the door opened by itself.

Harry was led through the door and past giant rows of shelves that had thousands of dusty orbs, glowing softly in the light of the candle brackets placed at intervals on the shelves. Their footsteps echoed around the massive room and Chang led them through a maze of twists and turns before stopping abruptly near the row numbered ninety seven.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."_

The rotating figure of a face eclipsed by huge round spectacles faded into the mist which was sucked back into the orb and Croaker directed Harry to put the orb back on the shelf.

Milner had to lift Harry up so that he could reach and put it back in place. So far, Milner noted, the kid hadn't reacted too badly. He was taking in everything without really understanding what was happening but he was amazed that the four year old hadn't started wailing or whining or even throwing a tantrum about the things he was being asked to do and not to mention the sudden bombshell about the existence of magic. Those Dursley's had really done a number of this kid, he thought grimly.

"Umm, what did that mean?" Harry asked faintly, disturbing the minds of the adults.

"It doesn't mean much," Milner said, dismissively. "Just something about a Dark Lord needing your special touch I think. Now is there anything else the Brass would like to do?"

Croaker scowled. "The scar," he said. "That's the biggest clue that we have to decipher the prophecy."

"My scar?" Harry asked confused. He was getting used to being confused now but what did his scar have to do with anything? "I got this in a car crash in which my parents died."

"Did the Dursley's tell you that?" Chang said sardonically, her voice making their skin crawl.

Croaker massaged his arms, to get that creepy feeling out of his skin and Harry just looked at them helplessly.

"Enough," Chekov said suddenly. "Hugo, take him back to the hotel and explain things to him _slowly_. He might be four years old but mentally he's further than an average eight year old. Don't mince words and make sure he understands everything."

"Let's go kid," Milner said, flashing his thumb up to the boss.

"Tomorrow morning, we'll worry about that scar," Chekov decided.

Milner lifted Harry in his arms and carried him out of the department. He might be an Agent for the Department of Intelligence but in his long career he had learnt a thing or two about dealing with mentally wounded kids. A smile lit his face up, he was really going to enjoy the coming decade.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**_The Ritz, 9:00 PM_**

"Now tell you understood all that I've said."

"I'm a wizard…. I can do magic…. My parents were … umm… they were killed by a bad man and I'm famous."

"I imagine that is a lot to handle but…." Milner said slowly. "But…"

"Can I have unlimited chocolate?!" Harry burst out excitedly.

"Now hold on kid…."

"Can I make Tom and Jerry real?! Can we buy a Lightsaber?!"

"When did you? Oh never mind, just calm the fuck down kid!" Hugo snapped.

"What's fuck?"

"It's what men like to do all the time."

"What?"

"I'll teach you the details later," Hugo said hastily, "But first why don't you get some rest. I imagine your body must be exhausted after such a long day."

Hugo was right. Harry suddenly felt the waves of tiredness blanket his mind and he yawned, opening his mouth wide.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be. Just get on the bed and sleep. Tomorrow and the day after and the years after are not going to have a lot of sleep. Get the most of it now."  
Harry didn't understand what he meant. But he was feeling really sleepy so he crawled onto the bed and laid his head on the soft pillow. "Good night," he mumbled and a couple of minutes later he was fast asleep.

"Good night kid."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**_The Next Day: Department of Mysteries, Curses and Runes Division, 10:00 AM_**

The slap of rubber against skin echoed through the large room and Rachel Sanders smiled at Harry with a maniacal glint in her eyes.

"I've been waiting for so long," she whispered, stroking his scar lovingly. Harry flinched and shrank away from the creepy woman.

Milner pressed his finger against her forehead and pushed her back. "Stop freaking him out," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Get to work before I make you do it."

"You don't have to tell me that freak," Sanders retorted. But she was intimidated by this strange man. His eyes made her want to crawl and hide far away from their reach. She forcefully swallowed the tight knot that was stuck in her throat and went behind the soapy membrane that hid the entire room except for the table that she had brought out for Harry's examination.

Harry tightened his grip on Hugo's pants when he was lifted placed on the granite table.

"What is she doing?" he whispered.

"Relax," Hugo said. "It's going to be fine."

Harry's mind flashed back to a scene from the cartoons he was watching. When the doctor said relax it's going to be fine, usually a ten ton black iron mass crushed them the next minute.

His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when a huge rectangular block that looked exactly like those in the cartoons was levitated through the shimmering membrane and he screamed in horror. But all that came out of his mouth was a whimper and Hugo patted his shoulders comfortingly.

"What is that thing?" Hugo asked curiously. It looked like quite the powerful magical artefact.

"Something I created," Sanders said with pride. "It's based on the X-Ray machines muggle have but this one is much more accurate and can be adjusted to examine every part of the human body."

"So it's like a CAT scan, MRI and X-Ray all put together," Hugo said impressed.

"Something like that. It's got three hundred and forty three layers of runes on the inside and beautifully entwined between those layers are enchantments you've never even heard about," she said proudly. It took me a long time to create this darling but I'll have you know I thought about this long before I knew about the muggle devices," she added quickly. She didn't want anyone thinking that she was stealing ideas. She craved for credit and couldn't wait for the day her invention was made public and her name famous.

Croaker and Chekov entered the room right then and both were surprised to see the normally large room truncated to a few meters from the door. "What's with the secrecy Sanders?" Chekov asked curiously.

"I don't want my workspace seen," she said stiffly. "And what is your assistant doing here?" she asked pointing at Croaker.

"He's my second in command, Sanders," Chekov said dryly. "He can go wherever he wishes."

"So he knows about my work?"

"Down to the last detail."

"Does he know about Potter's work as well?"

"Yes he does."

Rachel Sanders was outraged. Lily Potter, the former head of the rune division before her death, was someone Sanders could not stand to think about or talk about. They used to work side by side; Lily, researching runes and her, researching curses. It vexed her to no limits that Lily was treated as a special case and given more authority than her but what made her apoplectic with rage was the fact that Lily Potter's work was classified as top secret and kept out of her reach. How could they deny her knowledge, she just couldn't understand.

"Get on with it Sanders," Croaker ordered, pointing to Harry.

"You knew my parents?" Harry asked in interest.

Sanders just sneered and huffed. "Just your mother for a little while." She looked like she wanted to say more but a pointed look from Chekov made her reconsider. She summoned weird looking glasses, that, instead of lenses, had two extra large eyeballs and she put them on.

Harry giggled and Sanders scowled which made her look more comical and made him laugh even more. "You look funny," he said.

"I'm not the one with a funny scar," she retorted.

"Are you arguing with a four year old, Sanders?" Chekov asked, exasperated with the witch. She was brilliant but like most brilliant people, she came with a personality and an ego that was too eccentric to handle.

The large eyeballs glared at Chekov as well but she finally drew her wand and tapped a rune on the large rectangular block of solid stone. Immediately a buzzing sound filled the air and tendrils of magic began to come out of the top of the stone device.

"Lie back and keep your hands and legs away from your body," she said to Harry, now completely focused on her work.

The mood turned sombre as the odd floating block, that didn't have a name yet, started vibrating and sending pulses of colours through the tendrils coming out from the top which in turn connected to the large eyeball spectacles that Sanders was wearing.

Sanders pointed her wand at Harry as the magic began to flow into her specs and went through a series of wand movements at every point on Harry's body, from the tip of this toes to the crown of his head.

Harry was fascinated by the strange image and he was feeling a pleasant tingle wherever her wand was aimed at. After ten minutes she told him to turn on his stomach and Harry could feel the tingling go from head to foot.

After a while the buzzing sound, the vibrating block of stone and the tingling under Harry's skin, all stopped and there was complete silence in the small area of the room where they all stood.

Sanders took off the eyeballs and her eyes were red with stress. "That was harder than I thought," she said.

"Are you alright?"

"Reasonably," she replied. "The magic is a little hard to control and the eyes are very sensitive to such levels of magic. They'll be back to normal in no time."

"So what did you see?"

"Nothing yet. What I just did was create a live clone of every part of the kid's body. First we see what's under the scar before we try any other form of testing. We have to be very careful when dealing with curse scars."

Hugo's opinion of this woman rose significantly.

"Off the table kid," she said and Harry was more than happy to get away from the chance of being squashed like Tom or the Coyote after an ill attempted trap.

As soon he got down, there was a squelchy sound and when he looked back he gasped out loud. An ethereal image of his body was left behind showing the insides of his body clear as day.

"Is that me?" he asked in awe. He could see his heart, beating gently. It was nothing like the pictures he had seen in books or cartoons. It was tiny and had strange red tubes coming out of the top and was not like the shape shown in the books. Then there were the bags beside his heart which had to be his lungs and he was startled to realize that they were expanding with every breath he took. His eyes drank in the sight of the stomach which looked more like a peanut and the liver and kidneys. That's all he could recognize and there was just so much. He was in awe of his own body.

"Right," Sanders said all business like. "Organs are fine, muscles are quite weak and underdeveloped but a better diet should take care of that. Good strong heart, hmmm… liver's a little enlarged but nothing to worry about." She paused and frowned when she got to the brain.

"What is it?"

"You see the bright red lines?"

"Yes, they seem heavily concentrated at the centre of the foot and palms. Is it magic?"

She touched the stone block with her wand and the red became brighter. "Right, so the base of the foot is usually where we absorb magic from and the palm is where it can be released from. Now this mass inside the stomach is like a temporary storage area. The bigger it is, the longer you can last in a one on one duel."

"Why is it in the stomach?" Harry asked curiously.

Sanders scowled at the interruption but answered nonetheless. "I'm not really sure but the stomach is where all the food we consume is broken down so it makes sense that magic too would be stored there until it is called upon. Anyway, as I was saying this is the usual path magic takes. We absorb and we release, it is an endless cycle until we die."

"Cut to the chase will you?" Hugo sighed. "If I wanted a lecture I'd go to the fucking university."

"I'm getting there arsehole," she snapped back. "You are welcome to leave my class if you don't like it."

Harry frowned. There it was again, that word, fuck. He really wanted to know what it meant. Hugo used it a lot.

"Now look at his forehead. There's a bit of red there that is not part of his system."

"So it _is _a curse scar," Croaker breathed.

Sanders tapped the block again and Harry's brain reappeared. "And as you can see there's a tiny, very tiny mind you, tiny bit of it brushing against his frontal lobes."

"It looks like it's lodged there," Chekov muttered. "What is it exactly?"

Sanders looked at the little piece of red closely. "Well it looks like magic but it shouldn't be stuck there," she murmured. "Hang on." She tapped the block and his bones became visible.

This time every one let out an audible gasp of shock and surprise.

"Blow me down," Hugo muttered, baffled at the sight in front of him. "This is fucking unreal."

Sanders was opening and closing her mouth, unable to bring the words out.

"What the hell is this?" Chekov and Croaker said together, with matching tones of wonder.

Sanders finally found her voice. "Are those runes?" she gasped.

Harry's entire bone structure was covered with runes. There wasn't a single part that wasn't engraved with strange symbols. They could all see it. All over his skull, around his eyes, his jaws, behind his teeth, the ribs, the spine, hips, legs and feet; they all were marked with minute symbols that were indecipherable.

"That's cool," Harry said, completely unaware about the uniqueness of his bone structure.

Sanders laughed faintly. "Cool? That's impossible," she said. "You can't engrave runes on the bones of a living human! You have to draw runes with your wand or your fingers. And to do this would mean to cut you open beyond understanding!"

"Sanders."

"How is this even possible," she breathed ignoring the call. "This is… this is… is this Lily's work?! Did Lily do this?!"

"Calm down Sanders," Chekov said. "Why don't you try to understand and explain it to us?"

"Explain?" Sanders laughed agitatedly. "How the hell am I supposed to explain this?"

"Use your brain and make a conclusion."

"You can't magically make runes appear anywhere," she snapped. "Runes are drawn. They are drawn and they draw their power from an external source; that is magic from a living source. And depending on the structure of the runes, they serve a specific purpose. The fact that they're on his bones means, someone cut him open and drew them there without killing him or leaving any marks on his skin or tissue which is impossible even with magic!"

"Or?" Chekov pressed.

"Or she drew them on his skin and then they sank into his bone, which is also indisputably impossible!"

"Or not," Hugo said, regaining his calm.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Sanders spat. "Do you think you know more about curses and runes than me?"

"Clearly someone did," Hugo said with a pointed look at Harry.

Sanders reddened. "I… I'm better than that redheaded skank alright!"

"Skank?" Harry muttered. "What does that mean?"

"Will you calm the fuck down Rachel Sanders!" Chekov shouted. He was getting annoyed with her denial of something that was clearly possible, going by Harry's bones.

Chekov never cursed and that did the trick.

"I'm sorry," Sanders said, visibly relaxing after a deep breath. "It's just, to see something like this is very shocking."

"We understand, but there's a four year old here and we don't need to improve his vocabulary alright?"

"Yes," she muttered.

"Now, back to the scar," he said soothingly.

"Yes, of course." She carefully examined the runes but she couldn't read them or understand them. They were in a different script than those known so far and again, for the millionth time, she wished she had access to Lily's research.

"It seems to be damaged here," she said after a while. "Look," she said pointing at the area under the scar.

She was right. The foreign magic was stuck to the part where the runes were damaged and there an extremely miniscule crack in the skull from where the magic had penetrated through and reached the surface of the brain. But barely.

She touched her wand on the ethereal form of Harry and the forehead region was expanded.

"Yeah," Hugo said looking at the spot closely. "Two, no, three runes have somewhat lost their shapes and the magic is stuck to them. What does it mean?"

"Well obviously that's the place where the killing curse struck right?" she began, going into lecture mode. The mode she was most comfortable with.

Everyone nodded. Including Harry, who found all this fascinating instead of disturbing.

"So we can deduce that the magic was most probably repelled by the runes but since the killing curse is so powerful, it must have damaged the runes."

"So that's a bit of the killing curse stuck in his head?"

"No, not anymore," Sanders said confidently. "Look, when you cast a spell, you're using magic that is universal to all magical beings. Except that once it travels through you and is shaped into something with a purpose, it has your intent and well, you could say signature to it. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes," Harry said quickly and the others remembered his presence. Hugo grinned at the interested expression on his face.

"Now this magic has lost its intent. If it still had intent, it would be much brighter and very painful. This is just something that accidently got left behind when the killing curse rebounded."

"But it has Voldemort's signature," Croaker said slowly. "Is it affecting him?"

"I told you, it's gone stale. Whatever those runes are, they were capable of reflecting something like the killing curse but they were damaged in the process which somehow led to a bit of it remaining behind. But again, I'm just creating a hypothesis. I could be wrong, unless I can understand what these runes are."

"So its harmless magic stuck in his head in the form of a scar."

"I can't tell if it's harmless," Sanders cautioned. "There's a bit of it touching his frontal lobe and the magic wants to finish what it started. A spell must do what it was intended to do and even though this magic has lost its intent to kill, it will still want to enter the body. The killing curse is a curse so powerful that it stops all your body functions instantly. That is why there's no coming back after getting hit by one. Everything that keeps you alive is shut down as soon as it touches you.

Now as for this, I'm not sure what would happen if we attempted to remove it or let it go through. Magic has to enter and leave and it cannot be destroyed. That's a fundamental principle that can never change. This bit of magic is unnatural because it can't leave. It wants to complete whatever it was tasked to do and then return to the Earth."

"Does it still want to kill me?" Harry asked, his babyish voice a little afraid.

"It can't kill you but I don't know what could happen if we let it through."

"So we leave it alone?" Croaker asked.

"It has You Know Who's signature," Sanders said sharply. "Intent or no, this is magic cast by You Know Who. It is _his _magic and a part of him."

Croaker hummed. "This is quite the situation."

"Can't we just use tweezers to pull it out? Or maybe summon it or even scoop it out?" Hugo suggested, light-heartedly.

Sanders goggled at him. "What do you think, this is ice cream?"

Harry laughed.

"This isn't funny," she scolded.

"Sorry."

"Maybe if we repaired the runes," Croaker suggested.

"We don't know how they got there in the first place," Sanders said severely. "And in case I forgot to mention, those are_blood _runes. Most likely Lily's blood if I'm allowed to take another wild guess without having access to her research."

"Not that again," Croaker sighed.

"What?!" Sanders said defensively. "Whatever she was up to, she managed to do this!" she said, waving her fingers at Ethereal Harry. "How can I help if I don't know the first thing about this?"

"No," Chekov said sternly.

"But…"

"I said no. Lily's work is far beyond you and your temperament. That case has been closed a long time ago and I won't allow it to resurface."

"Far beyond me?" Sanders mouthed in indignation.

"But these runes have something to do with sacrifice," Chekov added. "Dumbledore reckons that by Lily's sacrifice to save her son, an ancient protection was summoned around him which Voldemort overlooked resulting in his own curse hitting him instead. But clearly there's more and if you want to figure it out, you're going to do it with what you have in front of you."

"Unbelievable," Sanders huffed.

"Believe it," Chekov snapped.

"So what now," Hugo asked, getting bored of all this theory and half boiled assumptions.

"I suggest we heal that crack in his skull first," Croaker said calmly. "He's been living for four years with a broken skull. I can't believe it hasn't healed yet."

"Probably because of the magic," Hugo said. "Perhaps the bone has healed around it and thinks the magic is a part of it. If you look closely it's almost a smooth hole through which the magic is penetrating."

Croaker touched Harry's scar. "Tell me if it hurts," he said kindly. He pressed hard and kept increasing the pressure until Harry hissed and drew back.

"It hurt," he said, rubbing his scar.

"Can you heal the fracture?"

Sanders gave him a look.

"Then do it."

Something unexpected happened the moment Sanders touched her wand to the scar and whispered the spell to repair the crack. The runes that looked damaged regained their original shape the moment the fracture was healed and there was a little whining sound that came from the scar. In Ethereal Harry, they saw the magic get sucked out at the point where it was trying to penetrate and it was spit out with a hiss.

Harry cried out at the unexpected jolt of pain and slapped his hand to his scar as a pale green light was ejected out. It splashed harmlessly against the wall and disappeared.

There was stunned silence.

Sanders blinked. "I think the problem just got solved," she said blankly.

"Are you fucking serious?"

That didn't come from Hugo. Nor did it come from Chekov or Croaker.

Four pair of shocked eyes looked down towards Harry who was grinning impishly. "Everyone keeps saying it so I said it too," he said blushing under the intense gaze.

"Hugo," Chekov groaned.

"My word," Sanders muttered.

"That was perfect Harry," Hugo chortled. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**_Chekov's Office_**

"Quite the anticlimactic end don't you think?" Croaker said.

"Who said this was the end?" Chekov returned. "But bloody hell," he sighed. "Those runes…" he trailed into silence, still feeling amazed at the sight of them.

"You knew Lily was making progress, but getting this far," Croaker added. "Do you think it was after the trip to Mexico?"

"Has to be," Chekov said. "But that's a story for later. What we need to talk about is the prophecy."

"It's very vague. Seventh month ends, well which calendar does it refer to, to start with. Dark Lord could mean Voldemort or it could also mean Vanderwick or maybe Kasprovich. As far as I know we had three self proclaimed dark lords back then."

"Let's assume it's the Gregorian calendar for now," Chekov said. "And Voldemort was the only one whom people really feared," he added. "Vanderwick and Kasprovich were put down with ease as I recall."

"The Germans were quite merciless when they subdued Vanderwick," Croaker said warily, remembering the day quite vividly.

"Trelawney is a British national am I right?"

"She is, I checked."

_"Either must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives."_

"Two men who cannot die unless they are killed by one or the other," Chekov murmured.

"But then it says both can't live while the other survives," Croaker said. "So if this is true and the prophecy is referring to Potter and Voldemort then it's already been fulfilled."

"Unless Voldemort is not dead," Chekov pointed out.

"So both should be dead then, since they are in violation of the rules of the prophecy."

"And that's why the clause which states they must attempt to kill each other and in that event the second part will be fulfilled," Chekov said.

_"Born to those who have trice defied him."_

"Defied how? Does it mean fought?" Croaker asked. "If we're talking literally, then James has been involved in life threatening encounters with the Death Eaters and Voldemort almost a dozen times. He was an Auror after all."

"And trice he nearly died after boldly confronting Voldemort," Chekov added. "Lily on the other hand was there on two occasions. I can't remember a third where she was in direct contact with Voldemort."

"I think it was the attack in Hogsmeade and the other in Diagon Alley where they were caught in the middle of the killing. The third could be during one of Dumbledore's solo operations."

"Defied," Chekov murmured thinking deeply. "Again, too vague. Defied everything he stood for or defied him by standing up to him?" "But we can't assume this prophecy is related to them yet," Chekov added.

"It's too late for that isn't it? By hearing its contents and immediately assuming it meant him he's made it about him."

"But if it's not about him then he could still be killed by anyone else. That is, assuming he's still alive."

"And if he is alive then what is he doing? Why hasn't he returned to finish what he started?" Croaker said, frowning.

"Let's just say he's dead for now," Chekov said.

_"Marked as his equal and will have the power the Dark Lord knows not."_

"Physical mark could mean the scar and that means the prophecy comes into effect after the marking has taken place," Chekov said.

"Unknown power could mean the runes."

"But we shouldn't assume it's about Potter and Voldemort yet," Chekov said again. "The same prophecy could refer to various other people around the globe in similar circumstances. You'll be amazed how similar different parts of the world are even though they'd like to think they're unique."

"But Voldemort _has _made this about him hasn't he? If he has bound the rules of the prophecy to his existence then no one can kill him except for Potter and that has to be the reason why Dumbledore is so invested in the boy. If he could control and direct the boy to kill Voldemort than it would mean a lot more than just political points for having a direct hand in guiding the Boy Who Lived."

"Dumbledore is a different matter. Let's focus on the prophecy Albert. Don't let your mind waver and jump to conclusions so soon."

Croaker sighed. "Well it is a very intriguing prophecy."

"Is there a possibility it's a fake?" Chekov thought suddenly.

"Chang wouldn't have recorded it then," Croaker said. "She's from the Time division and they've been researching the time sand for Merlin only knows how long."

"They do have the means to look into the future which means the prophecy has to be real for her to acknowledge it," Chekov muttered, thinking out loud. "If the prophecy is referring to Potter then inducting him into the department is going to be a problem."

"Unless we don't make him swear the oath," Croaker said.

Chekov sighed. "He will make an excellent addition to the field," he said. "Sanders ran a test on the blood Shaw provided. He was right, Harry is a Metamorphmagus."

Croaker whistled in appreciation of the news.

"I'm not letting this opportunity pass up."

"That would be wise," Croaker agreed. "And that reminds me. We have to give a bonus to Sanders for making that homing device for his blood and maybe consider her demands to reopen Lily's research. It could be useful to know how to counter the killing curse and find out the full extent and powers of the runes on Harry's bones."

"Absolutely not," Chekov said firmly. "That magic was too dangerous and I have a feeling that's what got her killed in the first place."

Croaker was startled.

"The prophecy, her unexpected pregnancy and all the events that made her life spiral out of control occurred after she went to Mexico. I'm not willing to let anyone be exposed to such magic again."

Croaker mentally did a check on the timeline and he realized Chekov was right. "But what about her notes?"

"Lily destroyed them."

"WHAT?!"

"I didn't tell Sanders because then she would try and find out about where Lily went and sooner or later would be on the next portkey to Mexico without our knowledge."

"There's no trace of Lily ever going there," Croaker pointed out.

"Don't underestimate Sanders," Chekov warned. "She gets very passionate about things and you can bet she's not going to rest until she deciphers those runes, but I doubt she's going to have any luck with that. I think it's for the best that, that's all she has to focus on."

"Do you mind me asking what was there in Mexico? I know she was researching some kind of magic and the runes were involved but I don't know the exact details."

"I don't mind but I won't tell," Chekov said with a note of finality.

Croaker sighed. "Back to the topic at hand; the prophecy."

"Leave it be. We'll get Shaw to join Dumbledore's group and this time ensure that he's working for us."

"How?"

"Let's start with Black," Chekov said. "I liked the way Shaw handled taking Harry out of Dumbledore's hands and using Black we could find a way to get Shaw into Dumbledore's hands."

"Black killed thirteen people and betrayed the Potter's while serving under Voldemort," Croaker said. He was just saying it because that's what everyone believed.

"Maybe we should ask him why he did it," Chekov said.

"Ideally, we'd send Hugo for such a mission but he's decided to play nanny," Croaker said dryly.

Chekov snorted. "If he heard you say that, those eyes would be unforgiving."

Croaker laughed. "Forget I said it. So I suppose I'll have to do the Black meet?"

"No one else can do it and I don't want Shaw to have contact with Black as of yet. He's still pouring over the Dumbledore files and verifying the facts."

"Thorough isn't he," Croaker commented.

"Always the best way to do things," Chekov agreed. "Let's start with a detailed investigation into Black's life," he said. "We're going to need an ace if we have to convince him to do whatever we ask. That is, if he really is innocent."

"I assume I'm going to be working for the ICW when I met him?"

"Of course, why do you ask?"

Croaker smirked. "It's good to be thorough."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**_A/N: Feedback is appreciated!_**

_Next Chapter: Growing up_


	4. Mission Raise Potter

**MISSION RAISE POTTER**

24th December 1984

Albert Spinner, retired justice of the law division of the International Council of Wizards, was making an unusual visit to the island named Azkaban. The prisoner he wished to meet was Sirius Black and the order for secrecy came from the highest authority of the magical world. The order was, of course, a fabrication made by the DOI and the secrecy would ensure the truth never got out. When the ICW badge was flashed, proper procedure was merely given a side glance all over the world.

To work at the ICW and reach the highest levels of its echelon, a person had to be the best in his profession. Albert Spinner was a world renowned specialist in criminal law and it had taken Albert Croaker 5 years and three months to infiltrate the organisation and bear the fruits of his work.

This was thirty years ago when he was tracking down a dangerous British citizen with an irrational rage towards the Ministry of Magic for Britain, who had come to possess an artefact with the mysterious power of sending people into the past... Permanently.  
The time division had been in a frenzy about getting a hold of this artefact and the Aurors were furious since the man was formerly one of them and had now taken asylum in Germany.

Chekov had assigned his best agent at the time to recover the artefact and ensure that the man disappeared naturally.

Today, many decades later, the identity of Albert Spinner was making an appearance in the shadows to meet with a un-convicted criminal. Croaker knew keeping the high profile alias would keep coming in handy until the day he died.

Sirius Black, prisoner in the highest security wing of Azkaban was startled out of his blank gaze into the darkness and memories that accompanied him when his cell door opened with a loud clang. He heard three distinct footsteps enter his prison cell and dully wondered who it could possibly be.

He hadn't seen or heard anything apart from the insane ramblings of the forty five inmates incarcerated in the wing with him. He knew there were forty five because he had spent a significant amount of his time trying to put faces to the voices. It was what he did to keep his mind busy and restrained from falling into the same pit of madness that his neighbours were trapped in. Disgusting soup with soggy chunks of meat appeared twice a day so he was able to keep track of time as well. It took a significant amount of effort to remember the day, the date and the month everyday after the dementors assaulted him but he managed not to forget and that little thing kept him sane since the time of his incarceration.

The scratches on the wall and his infected fingertips saw to the maintenance of a disorganised calendar until the strength to scratch departed his feeble fingers... That was four months ago.

Suddenly the jarring sound of metal being dragged against stone echoed in the cell and Sirius clamped his ears shut to shut out the painful noise.

A small table and two stools were brought into the cell and Sirius Black remained still but disturbed in the corner where he was sitting in.

"Sirius Black?"

A pleasant cultured voice filled the room and suddenly Sirius felt strangely weak. Weaker than he had ever felt since his relocation to Azkaban. Hearing the voice of a person who sounded normal, who wasn't screaming, who was screeching songs of praise about the dark lord; it felt so soothing and devastating to his heart. His breath came in a shudder and he felt more confused than ever.

"My name is Albert Spinner. I am with the ICW and I would like to borrow a bit of your time."

Sirius's eyes shifted towards the voice in the dark and he wondered if this was a new trick of the dementors. This couldn't possibly be real. How could it be real? A man talking in a tone that suggested he was at a sea side resort having tea and crumpets with an associate?

_No, this is not real. This is not real_.

"Do you need assistance to find your way to this stool I have for you?"

_Illusion born from the mind; that's what this is. There no point in entertaining such voices. The dementors are adapting to overcome my resistance._

Suddenly two hands grabbed his arms and lifted him up roughly - the chains binding his ankles to the wall clanged loudly - and he was deposited on the stool, facing a voice that was still hidden in the veil of darkness.

"Please close your eyes while I bring a little light into this room. I imagine it will be quite painful considering you have seen light for years now."

_This was not real_.

The strike of a matchstick and the spark of light that followed made him cry out in pain. His eyes burned and the man lit three candles fixed on the table.

Croaker stared grimly at what used to be Sirius Black. A bony face, which used to be full of life, now reduced to hollowed out cheeks and cracked lips. The pale clammy skin was overrun with scraggly facial hair. Eyes without light, without hope; dull and broken - shifting from side to side, not really seeing, but imagining only horrors. A face, devoid of hope and partly hidden behind a curtain of lacklustre brown hair that was thinning rapidly.  
Standard black and white striped prison clothes that were covered with grime and flecks of blood hid a frail figure which had a flimsy layer of skin covering the weakened bones of his body.

Croaker decided to proceed. "I need to know that you can hear and understand what I'm saying," Croaker said with gentle firmness. "Please state your name and the year you were born in so that I know that you haven't lost your mind yet."

The shifty eyes focused on the middle aged man with brown hair and fair skin and wondered for a moment if this was actually real.

"Mr Black?"

"Sirius Orion Black," he finally rasped. It was difficult to speak, he realised. His throat hurt and he began to cough violently.

Croaker nodded to the two men standing in the shadows and they placed a steel glass filled with water on the table.

"Drink," Croaker said calmly.

Sirius couldn't believe it. Clean water that didn't smell? Water that wasn't delivered in a clay cup that he had to find in the dark twice a day? He greedily grabbed at it and felt the darkness become a little less suffocating with every trembling sip.

"Please state your date of birth."

"18th June 1959," he said slowly, taking his time to speak the words.

"Did you kill thirteen muggles and Peter Pettigrew in cold blood after giving Lord Voldemort the secret to the location of Potter's cottage?"

_James, Lily_.

Sirius heart clenched. He as good as condemned them to die when he forced them to use Peter; A rat who grovelled at the feet of those with power.

"Yes," he whispered. If this was about a leaving Azkaban then he didn't care. He deserved to rot in this hell for his crimes.

"Did you use a blasting curse to kill Peter Pettigrew after he cornered you?"

_What was the point of this? Why, after four years was he being asked these questions_?

"Yes," he replied dully.

"Your wand is fourteen inches, has the core of a heart strings taken from a Swedish Dragon and is encased in oak wood. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"And you used the same to kill Peter Pettigrew?"

"Yes."

"The same wand was used to perform the Fidelius Charm that made you the Potter's secret keeper?"

"Yes," Sirius said tiredly. He wanted to go back to his corner and turn back into Padfoot. Padfoot didn't think complicated thoughts.

"You should know that everything you say is being recorded. Do you understand?"

Sirius nodded. He could hear the faint sound of a wave crashing against the rocky island and he wondered if a storm was coming.

"Are you aware that you were convicted without a trail?"

Empty blue eyes focused on the purposeful brown ones. "What do you want from me?" he asked hoarsely.

"Answer the question Mr. Black."

Sirius sighed. "Yes."

"Where you working for Dumbledore after your graduation from Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry?"

There was a short silence after that question to which the eventual answer was, "No."

"Were you a Death Eater serving Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"But you were not marked by Lord Voldemort."

"No."

"When did you become a Death Eater?"

_James, I'm so sorry_.

"Mr. Black? When did you become a Death Eater?"

"I don't remember."

"When did you give the secret of Potter's cottage to Voldemort?"

The incessant question snapped something inside Sirius and suddenly he was filled with rage. He caught the edge of the table and flung it aside, snuffing the light out of the room. For once the darkness made him feel better but the grief welling inside his heart burst out with the force of unforgiving guilt.

"I DON'T KNOW! I DON'T KNOW! I DON'T KNOW!"

He was screaming and straining against the chains binding him to the walls.

"LEAVE ME ALONE! I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!"

He started to cough violently again and the energy that it took to scream made him drop to the floor after his legs collapsed under him. He was sobbing and Croaker just looked on impassively.

"Pick him up and put the table back," he said to the two men he had brought with him. They could see in the dark with the light spell the prison guards used to see in the dark.  
Sirius was put back on the stool and the temporary furniture and light was put back in place. Croaker leaned closer to him, dug his hands into his robes and removed a wand.

Sirius's eyes widened when he recognised it.

"That's right. It's yours. We tested it, recreated the last five spells cast and none of them were a blasting curse. We went further back, almost six months and didn't find a trace of the spell required for the Fidelius. We questioned every Death Eater in your ministry's custody and none of them seem to remember you being within a mile of Voldemort after you graduated.

So tell me Mr. Black. What are you doing here in Azkaban?"

Sirius didn't reply. He looked away from the man in front of him, who was reminding him of the truth. The one word that sucked all the happiness out of him and in turn managed to keep him sane. The truth was that his friends were dead; betrayed by their best friend. The truth was that they suspected another and the truth that he had been too stupid to see the signs.

Telling a lie was a whole lot better than accepting the truth and now this man was making him remember all over again.

"Did you really betray the Potter's Mr. Black?"

"Yes," Sirius choked, tears travelling down his cheeks. But this time he knew he was lying and it was obvious.

Croaker waited. Sirius's body was trembling and his tears were flowing faster.

_"No, I did not_."

Sirius broke down. He was screaming, his eyes were roving with madness and grief, he was cursing Peter over and over again, begging James to forgive him, cursing his decision to make Peter the secret keeper and Croaker patiently waited for him to let it all out.

"I would never betray James," he cried widly. "I would never!"

"Then why did Albus Dumbledore, the chief warlock, let you be thrown into this hell without even hearing your side of the story?"

"I… I don't know. Maybe he thought I really did it. I don't know," he said in a broken sobbing voice.

"You worked for him for four years. Dedicated your life to him and he didn't bother to at least ask you why you did it?"

In the middle of his epileptic confession, Sirius had crawled into a foetal position on the floor and now he looked up with doubt in his miserable eyes. "I… He thought I was the secret keeper. And then I betrayed him or so he thought."

Croaker smiled. "You don't believe that. I can see it in your eyes. You asked yourself too didn't you? Maybe the first night or the second or maybe even for a week before the Dementors really started to confuse nightmares with reality. Why did no one come and ask you to explain yourself? Did no one care? Or was it something else? Was it because of your name that they immediately cast you aside and assumed you were capable of betraying the people you loved?"

_Legacy_.

The word came to Sirius instinctively and bitterly.

"Why are you here?" Sirius asked instead. Strangely the rabid confession and the absence of the dementors for so long was enabling him to think clearly after a very very long time. "Why is a man from the ICW talking to me after discovering my innocence? What country do you work for?"

"I don't belong to any country Mr. Black. I belong to the ICW law and order division and the fact that Britain has been convicting witches and wizards without a trail is disturbing news for the international community. Especially when the people cast into such deplorable prisons are innocent."

Sirius struggled to push himself into a sitting position.

"So what do you want from me? You don't sound like you're out to bring justice back to this shithole of a ministry."

"The first thing I want is for you to leave this prison if you are willing."

Sirius frowned, confused. "If I am willing?"

"That's right. If you are willing."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

Croaker smiled. "I'm glad to see your mind is somewhat intact. Most wizards go lose it entirely just after a month here."

"I am not most wizards."

"Clearly," Croaker said dryly. "What I mean, however, is that technically you would still be in prison and guilty in the eyes of the ministry."

Sirius's mouth dropped open. Was this man serious?

"You could choose to say no and live here until you die or else you could say yes and listen to my proposal after we get you out of here."

Suddenly it all clicked. ICW, Dumbledore, politics. They wanted him to become a spy for them, just like what he did for Dumbledore during the war.

"No way," he spat. "I'm not going to betray my country."

"We're not asking you to betray anyone," Croaker said sharply. "All I'm asking of you is to hear me out once we are away from these walls. If you decide not to help us, then we will ensure the truth about your innocence is made public and you will be a free man. I give you my word."

This was big, Sirius realised. There was something deeper and possibly dangerous at play and this man seemed to think he wouldn't say no. The possible reasons frightened him.

"Do you want to leave this place Mr. Black?"

"Yes," he said suddenly. He had made up his mind. "Please take me away from here." And then he collapsed. He lost consciousness after the emotionally exhausting encounter that drained every drop of strength from his body.

"Take him to the safe house," he said to his men. "And put the replacement in the cell."

"Yes Sir."

**One week later**

Croaker was staring at the yellow liquid swirling in the crystal glass, lost in thought.

"It might help if you drink it instead of sloshing it around," Chekov said helpfully.

Scotch was a marvellous drink to sooth the nerves.

"He's not doing good is he?"

"He's doing fine," Croaker replied.

"Then why the long face?"

"Do you remember the last time we removed a prisoner from the high security wing?"

Chekov frowned.

"That's right," Croaker said with a chilling smile. "Never. All we've ever removed from that wing are corpses."

Chekov realised the meaning behind fine in context to Sirius Black.

"How long will it take for him to get back on his feet?"

"A couple of days more I feel. But regarding his mental condition; it's far too soon to tell. Apart from blood curdling nightmares, he spaces out for hours together and memory loss is rampant. There are times when he forgets what he did just a couple of minutes ago. I recommend we recruit a Legilimens to accelerate his recovery."

Chekov pursed his lips. "They're difficult to find and nearly impossible to trust. Let him recover the normal way and you can recruit a muggle psychiatrist if you feel it's necessary."

Croaker nodded. "What about Hugo and Potter? What's their status?"

"That's reason I called you in," Chekov said. He flicked his wand towards the steel cupboard adjacent to him and the top most drawer slammed open. A folder rose up and floated towards Croaker.

Croaker opened it and started to flick through the file; it was an itinerary. "Detroit, Ahvaz, Kyoto, Bombay and Czech Republic," he muttered, browsing through the details and with every page he looked through, his eyebrows went higher. "This plan of his is … ... It's ambitious to say the least!" he said, his eyebrows going higher with every page. "But I don't understand what's in the Czech Republic; it's a magic dead zone."

"Do you think it has a chance?" Chekov asked. "This is a long term plan unlike anything we've ever done. Actually calling it long term would be an understatement."

"There's a lot of ifs and maybes involved in this," Croaker said frowning. "The very first being Stacy allowing Hugo to walk right into her operations in Detroit."

"But…?" Chekov pressed.

"It all depends on the kids abilities. There are so many variables in here that it's hardly worth joking about."

"Hugo says he has it in him."

Croaker looked over the file again. "Well if this works, it could mean getting a live source into the Vampire Covens in the States. But it's going to take more than fifteen years before Harry can actually have the credentials to infiltrate their hideouts."

"And if he manages to befriend Dempsey Logan's kid, than we have a real alibi that spans back to childhood. The Vampires won't doubt him for a second," Chekov said.

"His alibi for leaving and entering the country often will have to be solid as well," Croaker said. The idea that Hugo had presented them with was growing on them both and the prospects of it actually working was starting sound like a real possibility. Inserting an agent in four different criminal circles of the world as a child and gaining the friendship and trust of key players of the future of the underground was too tempting to resist.

"Well Hugo's cover is pretty straight forward. He's a smuggler who deals in information and Goblin gold. Two things that are in high demand all over the world and accounts for his various trips out of the country as well, no matter which country it is," Chekov said.

"Obviously their identities will change and Potter's metamorph powers will come in real handy."

"Logan is a thug for Salvic and his kid is seven years old. Potter is nowhere near ready for morphing into someone older than him let alone acting that particular age," Croaker pointed out. "All these plans are grand but it all hinges on Potter being able to do what is asked of him and I find that too big a stretch. We shouldn't be forcing his magic out so soon. It could damage his pathways."

"Hugo had a long discussion with Sanders about that," Chekov replied. "She gave him a schedule which is quite intensive but not harmful to his growth. Plus I was able to wrestle a time turner out of Chang's grasp and considering the limits of his training his metamorph powers with a time turner, Hugo has worked out a schedule to have him ready for the basics in about six months."

"I'm still not convinced," Croaker said grimly. "We're putting an awful lot of burden on a four year old's shoulders."

"A four year old who is smarter than a kid twice his age and forced to grow up faster than normal because of abuse," Chekov reminded. "I'm uncomfortable about signing off on this as well but think about the dividends this project could reap if it is a success."

"We could finally have a direct line on Lucius Malfoy's illegal operations via vampires," Croaker said. "You don't have to remind me about the benefits of this plan."

Croaker sighed. "When does Hugo plan on leaving?"

"We have to lay the groundwork first; muggle and magical. It's nothing not doable but just like you I'm very wary about going through with this. I need to know from you that we can trust this kid not to fuck up."

"I can't promise you that but I can tell you that we have trusted Hugo for twenty years and counting. There's something he sees in the kid so irrespective of our misgivings, I think we should trust his judgement," Croaker said.

Silence reclaimed the space of the room while thoughts and decisions were made in the mind of Dmitri Chekov; the Russian who immigrated to Britain during the world war and ended up marrying Marylyn Selwyn, the sister of Bryce Selwyn; Alice Longbottom nee Selwyn's father.

"Let's do it," he said finally. "An opportunity like this will never present itself. O, and don't mention anything about Harry Potter to Black. As far as everyone else is concerned, Harry Potter is living with his relatives."

"Yes Sir."

"Did you take care of Arabella Figg?" Chekov asked suddenly, the talk about Harry's old home reminded him about the spy Dumbledore had put two streets away from the Dursley's residence.

"She's a little crazy already and there's a good distance between her and the Dursley's house. But to be sure I had Blake lure her to the ministry on the pretext of winning the weekly Kneazle lottery. She was Obliviated and memories of Harry Potter were replaced with the new Harry Dursley Potter."

"So no chances of Dumbledore getting wind of the switch unless he makes an appearance himself," Chekov asked to confirm.

"He turns up to silence bouts of major accidental magic. The new Harry is as muggle as they come and the artefact Sanders built will ensure all magical traces and owls for Harry Potter will go to Privet Drive."

"Good," Chekov breathed. "Getting back to your project; has Shaw outlined a plan for Black yet?"

"Outline yes," Croaker replied. "It requires us to recruit Glen Savage on some level so we're working on that. Shaw plans to enter the field as well and..."

The two intelligence officers continued their plotting and planning for the betterment of Britain and some miles away, in lavish mansion, Hugo Milner was teaching Harry Potter the basics of faking accents, learning languages, the mental growth of a human and many other skills on a tight schedule without overburdening the four year olds eager mind in his mission to make him the best metamorphmagus and spy that the world would never see.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**31 April 1988, Karlstejn, Czech Republic (4 years Later)**

"Your Metamorphmagus skills are developing really well Harry. But you're still unable to make yourself older than fifteen let alone act like one."

"It's difficult to maintain," Harry complained. "It's easy to change my face or hair and grow taller or shorter or even fatter but there's a limit to it! Pushing my body beyond five feet hurts too much."

"Well, you have to do it. Right now you're still too small to attempt magic with a wand and unless you grow you're going to be kept away from a wand. Metamorphmaguses have an incredible power but your study in biology has to be unmatched. The more you know about your body the better you can control your powers and by body I mean hormone development."

Harry sighed and took a sip of the hot coffee. They were in restaurant called the Krcma U Ezopa, or café Ezop in short, in the small market town of Karlstejn of the Czech Republic.

"What's the rush," Harry complained under his breath. "You've been working me to the bone with all the training."

"The rush is that the department is investing a lot in you," Hugo said severely. "Magic is an important part of your growth and the sooner you're capable of…."

"I know, I know," Harry interrupted irritably and then he sighed glumly. "Maybe going to Disney Land would be a nice motivator for me."

"I took you there after you succeeded with your facial changes didn't I?"

Harry just sighed and took another sip of his coffee.

"And you're not supposed to be drinking so much coffee," Hugo added sternly.

Harry sighed.

"Will you stop that? It gets on my nerves when you keep doing that."

"What are we doing here anyway? I thought we were going to the Devil's Cauldron?"

Hugo downed the contents of his mug and sighed in happiness. "Czech Beer is the best," he said, ignoring Harry and opening his little pocket box of joints. He lit it and took a deep, stress reliving drag.

"Hello? I asked you something."

"I thought raising you would be easy. But you're a real pain in my ass sometimes," Hugo grumbled.

Harry scoffed and folded his arms sulkily. "The feeling is mutual."

"And then you make me laugh," Hugo grinned. "Want a drag?" he said, offering the joint to Harry.

Harry's eyes lit up. "Really?!" he gasped, eagerly sticking his hand out but Hugo withdrew the joint and smirked.

"But then I do remember saying I won't let you smoke pot until you're sixteen so…"

Harry scowled. "I'm doing my best you know. You have no idea how hard it is."

"I remember you saying the same about changing your bone structure."

"It's easy once I understand how to do it without hurting myself."

"Well, look at this way. The sooner you grow the sooner you can play with the girls."

Harry grimaced. "Your meaning of playing with a girl is just gross."

"You'll come around sooner than later," Hugo laughed. "If you manage to develop your hormonal glands and they start going wild in your body, you'll be thanking me for pushing you to master your Metamorphmagus powers."

"Unlikely," Harry said confidently.

"Err excuse me sir?" A waiter came up to Hugo with a pained expression on his face.

"Yes?"

"You can't smoke that here sir. I'm afraid I'm going to ask you to leave."

The air suddenly grew thick and suffocating throughout the restaurant. Hugo's eyes turned cloudy and Harry gulped at the power exuding from Hugo's eyes.

"Don't annoy me with stupid requests," he said coldly and a second later the pressure was released. The waiter and those who had complained didn't understand what just happened but suddenly they weren't bothered by the smoke at all. They were puzzled at the sweat on their skin when the weather was so pleasant and the hot sun was hidden behind dense clouds that were drifting across the blue sky lazily. Shrugging the odd feeling off they resumed their conversations and the atmosphere turned light again.

The waiter found himself standing near the bar wondering why he was there and then he remembered the gentleman at table 5 wanted another beer.

"You can be so scary sometimes," Harry said warily.

"Just try and stop me smoking my shit," he grumbled. "Now, you," he said pointing a finger at Harry, his eyes turning hard, "Don't bother me with whiny requests for joints and amusement parks until you master your power. Our mission in Japan requires you to be seventeen years old."

"But that's more than four years away! Of course I'll have mastered it by then!"

"You've been slacking of since we returned to the States last month and that's the reason why we're here ahead of schedule," Hugo snapped.

Harry looked down at his feet angrily.

"But if you do better than I expect then I'll take you to a place that is beyond amazing," he added with a sigh.

The angry face disappeared and eager curiosity replaced it. Harry finished his coffee quickly with imaginary super amusement parks spinning his mind crazily.

"It's almost time," Hugo said glancing at the main road. The town they were in was very small and had a single main road besieged by shops and residences. The road led up to the hill where the majestic Castle Karlstejn stared down at the town, exuding an aura of history and mystery.

"Are we here for the festival?" Harry asked Hugo after they left the restaurant.

"Do you know about it?" Hugo asked. He never knew what kind of books Harry got his hands on and buried his nose in. Everywhere they went; Harry purchased all manner of books, most of them to do with history.

"Walpurgis Night; Some muggle cultures celebrate it as the end of winter and the beginning of spring," Harry said. "The make a huge bonfire and burn an effigy of a witch made out of straw after which they dance and drink until dawn to welcome the coming of spring."

"That's the typical gist," Hugo agreed as they walked up towards the castle on the hillock.

"Walpurgis Night is also an important festival for the magical world and the muggle version is something of a by product of this festival," Hugo explained. "Magical folk call it the Witches Sabbath. A night of when witches and wizards celebrate the arrival of spring as well but it a manner that is far from what muggles would consider decent."

"Decent?"

"They celebrate this time of joy and pleasure starting with a lavish feast, followed by the consumption of hallucinogens and drink and completed by an orgy."

"Orgy?" Harry asked frowning, another new word among the millions that were occupying his brain every day. "What's that?"

"It's a term for when dozens of men and women have sex without restraint with anyone or sometimes... anything."

Harry's eyes widened with shock. "Why?" he asked turning red with embarrassment. Putting your thing in anything? The thought made his stomach churn uncomfortably.

"Well it's an ancient ritual. The participants believe that through frenzied lust and sexual desire, they would reach a climax which would allow them to be united with the source of all magic. They believed that end of winter and the beginning of spring was accompanied by an increase in the levels of magic and the ritual would also increase their magical power. Today, however, the wizards and witches who practice this ritual do it for the sake of pleasure alone."

"Wow." Then another thought struck him and he looked at Hugo nervously. "Umm we're not going to see it, are we?"

"Huh? Oh, no. Don't worry. We're here for different reasons."

Harry sighed, extremely relieved.

"But there's a lot more to this day than the Sabbath. The greater portion of the magical world celebrates it like the muggles do. The build a bonfire, camp out with their families and tell stories about the past; most of them to do with the muggle persecution of magical beings."

"The witch hunts."

"Exactly. The Witches Sabbath was a critical part of what caused the witch hunts in the first place. The Holy Roman Empire was suffering from floods, plagues and all manner of epidemics at the time and they found it easy to put the blame on the unnatural rituals of those who practiced witchcraft. Orgies weren't uncommon back then but the Witches Sabbath at that time involved a lot of madness which included slaughtering goats, bathing in their blood and a lot more gory things you don't really want to know. From then on out, any bad thing that happened to the muggles was blamed on the witches and wizards and this ultimately led to the formation of a government and later the establishment of the statue of secrecy."

Harry was hard pressed to keep up with the long strides of his guardian. He had to run and catch up to him every five minutes and it was tiring him. He kept falling behind because he was also interested in this quaint town were even the slightest noise felt like an annoying disturbance to the peace and quiet. All the houses were made out of wood and some with concrete but they were all painted in different attractive colours. Harry liked the way they dressed too. The girls wore long frilly skirts and the boys, baggy trousers with loads of pockets. He felt a little out of place with the shorts that he was wearing.

But most thrilling thing of all was that the entire town and the castle were within the confines of a mountain range and worlds apart from modern civilisation. Everything here was shielded by a blanket of unending greenery and as they walked up the path to the castle, a variety of birds with musical chirps flew over their heads from rooftop to rooftop in the biting but gentle breeze of the mountains.

Finally they reached the castle entrance. The castle itself was not very large. It had one tower and maybe three sections judging by the three conical roof shapes on top.

"Come on Harry, keep up!" Hugo called when the distance between them got a little larger.

His four foot frame hurried along to catch up to Hugo.

Night was falling faster than expected and Hugo led Harry around the castle to the courtyard where there was a huge bonfire being made ready. It was nearly 10 foot wide and 10 foot long with a human effigy made out of straw tied at the top. Stalls had been put in near the corners where food was being made ready to serve along with drinks for the adults and juice for the kids.

"Can we watch?" Harry asked excitedly. He had never seen a camp fire this large before.

"We ought to reach the Devil's Cauldron before nightfall," Hugo said and walked straight into the woods.

"Can we come back later?"

"Sure kid. Now come on. Let's go."

Hugo dug his hands into his pockets, his arm nearly sinking in the whole way until he grasped what he was looking for and pulled out a broom. He tossed it to Harry who caught it happily. He loved flying. It was the best feeling in the world.

Hugo removed another for himself and under the cover of the thick forest; he began to navigate around the trees and overgrowth.

"So what's the Devil Cauldron like?" Harry asked.

"It's a slum," Hugo said. "It's a place where criminals, the poverty stricken folk, werewolves, vampires without a coven and thousands more who don't fit anywhere else in the world come and live."

"Like Creepy Corner?"

"No, this is different. Creepy Corner is a place where business takes place. You saw it for yourself last year. This place however, is like a home. A place where these people can say they belong."

Harry's interest was piqued. "And what are we doing here?"

"Like I said, it a home to criminals and the information we get here is priceless. However, to get it comes with a price tag weighed in gold."

"A price tag beyond our means?"

"These people do not rat out their own kind unless they feel it's worth the price," Hugo said grimly. "What we're looking for is information on the whereabouts of 'John the Wraith'."

"We've been doing that for a long time now!" Harry complained.

"He's a shadow who travels in the blind spots of our shadows," Hugo said sourly. "But he's the mind behind the manufacture and sale of purgestones around the globe and this time one of my informants say the Devil's Cauldron is a hotline for him around this time of the year."

The prugestones were stoned with an enchantment only few we're capable of casting. It was a stone that dark wizards loved and a stone that caused unending migraines to Law Enforcement all over the world. The stones were difficult to find but if one got their hands on it, they could place it in the hands of a muggle and a thrall was born. Dark Wizards used it to control the muggles or wizards for their own desires; perverted and dangerous. Criminals used these stones to surround themselves with loyal servants who would murder and carry out dealings without the slightest protest no matter how degrading the task. The stones also ensured that if caught, the guilty could claim pardon under the banner of mind control and be sentenced only to a couple of months of mind healing.

"If we find him and directly make a deal with him, then my identity as a smuggler will become rock solid and it will open a can of worms hidden from our sights as of yet," Hugo added.

It was quite sudden, the way the trees melted away and instead of solid ground, Harry was looking down at the biggest Cauldron he had ever seen. A sink hole, shaped like a cauldron so deep that he couldn't even see the bottom.

The air was hot and humid and there was no sky above. The entire forest had taken flight and grown over this gigantic hole providing complete cover from prying eyes. Roots and dirt kept falling from above and Harry felt like the forest could fall on their heads any second. There were hundreds of balls of fire that floated around them providing light in the dark and more heat that necessary.

Harry was already sweating and his mouth was half open coupled with awestruck eyes.

Hundreds of witches and wizards, flying on broomsticks went in and out of the hole and there was a constant barrage of cracking sounds, like a million balloons being burst one after the other and there was no end to it.

The folk flew out of the Cauldron and apparated after landing on the small strip of ground all around the cauldron. The land looked tiny in comparison to the size of the hole But it was capable of provoiding footing for as many wizards that needed it with the aid of magic.

Harry could see rows and rows of orange balls, lighting up each level and they kept going further down until it looked like there was a massive fire burning at the bottom.

Just a mental image of hell.

"This is so cool," Harry breathed.

"Come on. We got to go to the eighteenth level."

"How deep is this?!" Harry gasped.

"Deep," Hugo laughed. "The scum of the magical world grow larger every year and so does this hole."

The deeper they travelled the worse the smell got. "Any chances you can cast a smell suppressing charm?" Harry asked, cringing.

"Endure it."

Harry knew that was going to be the answer. An odd thrill and fear fluttered in Harry's stomach as they descended. He could not see the bottom and all it seemed like was that there was a fire waiting for them down below which was pulling them towards it hypnotically.

"Who built this place?" Harry asked, still in awe.

Hugo smiled. "Voldemort."

Harry's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Voldemort was a Dark Lord to the people on the ground and he was a saviour to the people who didn't have a ground to call their own. The war with Voldemort was more than just about blood purity to the underground. To them he was a beacon that would allow them to have a home and a means to survive and most importantly freedom from persecution. He built this place with the help of Goblins as a shelter for them - promising the land above the ground after he was victorious."

"But then he was vanquished," Harry said. He gulped when he realised that he was probably the most hated name in this hole. He looked at Hugo nervously, but his guardian was as cool as a cucumber.

"What's so special about this place?" Harry asked. "Couldn't he have built this in Britain?"

"Not without the ministry finding out about it. This area is called a magical dead zone because you cannot use magic here."

Harry frowned at the contradictory statement. "But..."

"I don't know how he did it but he managed to do this and in addition it is completely invisible to the world where right and wrong actually mean something. You cannot find this place unless there's someone who knows its location escorting you. It took me a long time to find someone I could con into leading me here."

There were narrow gaps all around the cauldron at each level and a brightly lit network of tunnels and people would be seen through the gaps.

Each level had a roman numeral carved into the Earth above it and Hugo stopped at number eleven.

He looked and Harry with utmost seriousness. "You'll find goblins, werewolves and humans here and all of them have one thing in common; Greed. The tunnels are complex and it's easy to get lost so keep track of the path you take understand?"

"Yes."

"There might be chance this is going to be your new home for a while."

"You're kidding. This is worse than a pigsty!"

"Everything that you've done so far, in the States and Iran, was to prepare for this place," Hugo said, his eyes and tone deathly serious. The fun and games are over once we put foot on this underground. Keep up your disguise at all times, make as many friends as you can and be a star in their eyes."

Harry suddenly felt the pressure of uncertainty and doubt in his abilities. A place like this was bound to be filled with violence and scary people. But then every time they went to a new place he always had the same feeling.

A confident smile appeared on his face and he looked up at his mentor with eyes made of unbreakable resolve.

Hugo cast a spell to hide them from sight temporarily. "I think Tyson Storm make a name for himself here," he said. "What do you think?"

Harry crunched his eyes and adjusted his features to match that of the fictional Tyson.

Black hair turned brown, green eyes turned black, high cheek bones adjusted to become a little more rounder and harsher, height changed to four feet ten inches to match that of an average twelve year old and his skin turned from White to pale brown. Harry Potter turned into Tyson Storm; short tempered twelve year old whose face was designed to be forgettable.

Tyson was an orphan who Henry - the name Hugo was known by in the Devil's Cauldron - picked up in New Mexico during one of his dead drops.

"Good," Hugo said, pleased with the speed of the change. "Now remember the rules."

"Don't break character and no emotional attachments," Harry recited. They were lessons pounded into him in the harshest ways possible.

"Chose the people you make friends with wisely," Hugo advised. This is not like Detroit where you knew whom to befriend." Hugo took a deep breath and smiled reassuringly.

"Now are you ready?"

"Yes."

Hugo led they way into the crack between level eighteen and nineteen and immediately there was a drastic change in temperature. The inside was cooler than the sweltering wind that was blowing within the central column of the gigantic slum.

_Ventilation_. The answer dawned on Harry and his respect for the design of the underground network went up a notch. Even the smell had reduced to bearable but all thoughts of hygiene took a back seat at the sight of so many people in an underground slum.

The size of the underground level was beyond the scope of what Harry imagined. It was huge! Had hundreds of little tunnels branching their way into hidden depths. Thousands of stalls and huts were propped all over the places without any regard to organisation or convenience to others. Countless number of people were walking in groups laughing and shouting at one another just so they could hear each other over the incredible noise that filled the underground. Liquor bottles and cigarettes were littered all over the place and Harry's eyes nearly budged out at the size of some of the people on the level. Obesity, it seems, was rampant even in a slum.

He saw groups of teenagers haggling with a fat ugly man with warts on his face over the price of what seemed to be fried lizard. Another group of boys and girls were sitting in one corner, smoking and glaring at anyone who dared come within ten feet of their group. A pack of dogs were being chased by some excited children and in the midst of all the chaos, Harry was being led into the maze of tunnels by Hugo.

He held onto Hugo's pants for fear of getting lost in the catacombs and he bumped into no less than twenty stinking legs on his way to he had no idea where.

As they went deeper into the tunnels, the crowd of filth became thin and instead of huts and stalls, there were proper doors embedded in walls that actually extending from the ceiling to the floor. The entrance of the level, it seemed, was like a terminal of an airport or train station in a third world country. The inside, however, seemed more organised but the twists and turns and branches of tunnels, were even more confusing.

Harry saw holes in the ground and roof, through which ladders were propped and people kept passing through, either on foot or on brooms.

Oddly, the practice of magic seemed scarce and he wondered why that was.

"We're here," Hugo announced suddenly and Harry, whose eyes were elsewhere bumped into the thirty fifth pair of legs. "Get into character," he warned before thumping on the wooden door.

The doors was flung open and in the centre stood a lady. Harry figured she had to be a lady because of the cheap cocktail dress that she was wearing but he also felt it could be a man because of the mean face, stubble and lack of breasts.

"Gloria, it's been a while," a Hugo greeted.

"Henry!" Gloria shrieked in a high pitched womanly nasally voice. "Where have you been?!"

Gloria leaned forward and kissed both cheeks and Hugo reciprocated.

"Who's the kid?"

"Gloria, meet Tyson. Tyson, this is Gloria. She's the landlord of this level."

"Pleased to meet you," Harry said gruffly without interest.

"Shake hands," Hugo ordered and glaring mutinously, Tyson obeyed.

Manicured fingers shook his tiny hands delicately and Harry drew his hand away quickly.

"Are we going to be here long Henry?"

"Can we come in?" Hugo asked politely.

Gloria didn't move and instead looked at Hugo calculatingly. "What do you want?"

"A home for me and my adopted kid," Hugo said laughing. "I thought living in the world above would be easy but ... Well..." He shrugged helplessly and looked at Gloria with eyes asking for help.

Gloria smirked. "The line is long Henry. Everyone of those vagrants out on the front porch are looking for a home."

"I'm aware," Henry said smoothly, "and I came prepared."

Gloria pursed her lips, painted with dark red lipstick and Harry didn't like the look she had in her eye. Or was it he pretending to be she?

"I suppose the cost will rise and some complimentary gifts should bump you up the pecking order," she said licking her shiny lips, revealing a row of yellow teeth.

"May I come in?" Hugo asked again.

A shiver of disgust ran through Harry's spine. Hugo wasn't, he wasn't going to do what he thought he was, was he? Harry though in horror.

"I'll see you in an hour Tyson," Hugo said winking. "Don't get lost and don't be late."

"Sure," Harry muttered and turned on his heel not wanting to let his morbid imagination get the better of him. He heard Hugo walk in and the door banged shut.

Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes and embraced the personality of Tyson Storm. Short temper, American accent, twelve years old, likes to fight, delinquent, hates weaklings and sometimes acts too big for his boots, boasts a lot and a general arsehole.

A smirk grew on him and his sharp beady eyes turned in both directions before deciding to go towards the front porch as Gloria had called it.

Every left,every right, every bend that he took was memorised and filed away for his return journey. Five minutes into his journey, Harry realised he was no where near the entrance of the level but it didn't bother him. His task was to look for children his own age and mingle. But so far, he had come across a number of cold faced, miserable adults and a couple of tall men that looked at him with perverted eyes. _Pedophiles_, Harry thought warily and hurried along before they could get a hold of him.

The dull intensity of light remained constant throughout and fifteen minutes into his quest of friendship he came across a disturbing sight.

A boy maybe fourteen or fifteen judging by her size was trapped in a corner, cowering in the face of a menacing werewolf.

Harry's blood went cold and his instincts were telling him to flee and abandon the boy to his fate.

Tyson however, was hot blooded and hated people who took advantage of the weak even more than he hated the weak. It was with that thought and without a seconds concern for his own fate if the werewolf turned its fangs on him, Tyson Storm let out a blood curdling yell and using his metamorph powers to increase the density of his bones in his hands he ran forward and punched the werewolf in the gut.

"Get away from him filthy dog!" he yelled.

People passing by hurried away instead of helping.

The werewolf stumbled back, surprised at the sudden attack but looked hardly affected by the strong punch.

A low growl rumbled in his throat and crazed yellow eyes turned their attention to the pest that interrupted his hunt.

"You have a death wish it seems brat," a deep and rusty voice rasped.

Harry gulped and backed away while the other boy inched towards Harry, trembling with fear. "W-why did you...?"

"We can take him," Harry said confidently, interrupting the boy.

Incredulous blue eyes stared at him and at the same time the werewolf leaped.

The bravado that had momentarily overtaken his senses fled as soon as he saw the snarling face come close and he pushed the boy out of the path of the crazy werewolf before jumping away himself. "Run!" he shouted.

But there was no where to go. Fate it seemed had led them to a tunnel with a dead end and the only exit was covered by a drooling werewolf.

"Run where?!" the other boy hissed unhelpfully and together they backed away until their backs hit the wall.

Fear filled Harry and he wondered what Hugo would do if he found out that Harry had turned into a werewolf on his first day in the Devil's Cauldron. Harry began cursing Hugo to hell for bringing him to such a dangerous place in the first place and he closed his eyes and prepared for the worst when the werewolf bent it's knees, making ready to pounce and bite.

"What do you think you're doing Mack?"

Harry opened his eyes and to his relief, saw another man holding Mack the werewolf's shoulder in a vice grip.

Mack growled in reply and tried to break free but it was futile. The other man was much stronger.

"Go back to level thirty or else I'll tell the warden what you've been up to."

"That kid," Mack growled angrily.

"I don't want to hear it! Now move before i make you!"

Mack glared hatefully at the other kid before turning around and storming away.

Harry and the other kid sighed in relief and slumped to the ground.

The man who saved them gave them a glance to see if they were hurt and after deciding they weren't, he followed Mack the werewolf.

A few minutes of silence was observed between the two boys while they thanked all the gods they could think of for letting them survive that freak encounter.

"Thanks for saving me," the other boy said after a while. "I would be turned if you hadn't shown up."

Harry stood up and looked at the boy closely. Long curly blonde hair, blue eyes, taller than him, thin as a rail and hollows cheeks.

"Names Tyson," he said in return and stuck out his palm.

The other boy grinned and took the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet. "Gale," he replied. "Thomas Gale."

"What'd you do to piss the hound off?"

Gale grinned and removed a pouch from his pocket. "Stole his gold," he laughed.

Harry blinked in shock. Apprently the werewolf's anger was justified. Harry then snatched the pouch out of his hands.

"Hey! What the hell man?!"

"My price for saving your ass," Harry replied pocketing the light pouch.

"Give it back!"

"Make me."

Gale looked into those cocky, challenging eyes and changed his mind. "Fine," he said defeated. "It's not like there's much in it anyway."

"How bout we spend it to celebrate our survival?" Harry asked. He didn't want to turn the boy away. This was his chance to wiggle into the circle of pickpockets and thieves.

"I have to go back to the den first," Gale said.

"The den?"

"Our hideout," Gale explained.

"O. Do you mind if I tag along? I'm new here."

"Sure," Gale said enthusiastically. "You saved by butt. The others will be thrilled to hear about our encounter!"

Harry grinned. Looks like the first part of his mission was a success.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**REVIEW!**


	5. Mission Broomstick

**MISSON BROOMSTICK**

Tyson Storm; a name that sent shivers down every degenerates spine, also known as the king of the underground, sat upon his throne, watching his grovelling minions with amusement.

An entire level transformed into a land fit to house the king of the underworld. O, life was good for anyone serving under the banner of 'The Den'

"We caught the snitch my liege," said Thomas Gale, the leader of the division of pickpockets.

"Excellent," hissed Tyson, his black eyes glittering cruelly. "Take him to the pits and remind him what a mistake it is to betray us."

Gale bowed deeply and left the throne room of level one.

"Is there anything you require from us My Lord?" asked some of his followers who were kneeling all around him, just waiting for him to give the most whimsical order.

Tyson's eyes fell upon the curvy figure coming out of his private room and he licked his lips in anticipation of what was to come.

"Everyone out," he hissed and stared at the seductive beauty walking towards him.

"I sense you are hungry, My King," whispered a sweet, deliciously husky voice.

"Ah Natasha, my love." Tyson grinned and his eyes were drawn to the see through negligee. "I see you finally awoke after our passionate love making."

"You were wonderful as always," she whispered, gliding towards him with sexual intentions. "Please ravage me again My King."

All of Tyson's blood rushed south and he stood up from his throne with impure thoughts and intentions.

"But perhaps you should wake up first," she added with a teasing pout.

"What?" That was not right was it?

"Wake up Harry," she repeated. Her voice was turning manlier and it was not doing good things to Tyson's libido.

"Harry? Who's Harry?"

"Harry! Tyson! Wake up for fucks sake!"

Tyson groaned. Why did the best things in life always come in the form of dreams he though miserably and covered his head with the pillow. "Go away Henry," he mumbled. He wanted to be a king again. Not just another peasant in an ocean of peasants!

"Tyson, wake up. Your friends are calling for you."

That woke him up, friends were important after all and he sat up, staring blearily around the tiny room. A moment later he frowned.

His name wasn't Tyson. It was Harry! Harry James potter and he had no friends.

Who were you this time?"

Harry sighed. "Tyson again."

Hugo was worried. It had been a year and a half into their life in the underground when Harry started to have an odd crisis. He would wake up in the mornings sometimes in the persona of James; the American alias. Sometimes it was Ahmed but mostly it was Tyson, the face he had been wearing for the better part of two years.

After the first two incidents of Harry not recognising his own name, a morning ritual or rather after waking up ritual was formed in which he meditated on his real name, remembered the time spent as Harry Potter and reaffirmed his identity by reviewing memories of his past vocally.

"Come on," Hugo beckoned, standing in a circle drawn on floor. Their ten by ten home; closet for people above the ground, was divided in two by a red curtain. On either side of the curtain was a circle in which two people could stand in and in one of the circles, Harry and Hugo stood side by side with a long chain around both heir necks which was attached to a time turner.

The half of the room which was away from the door was never used nor entered and was completely empty, except for a circle on the floor.

The half which _was_ used had two mattresses on the floor against the wall and beside the entrance was another smaller, two by two feet cubicle which served as their bathroom. The rest of the room was bare and kept cool only by the natural effect of the mud which the underground was carved out off. There were two distinct currents of air flowing at the top of the ceiling which were part of he ventilation system of the underground. One current went in and the other led back into the massive column at the centre of the Cauldron. Children often played games by throwing bits of paper into the air stream and following them while giggling and laughing and tripping over each other.

"One, two, three and four," Harry recited sleepily and turned the spindle attached to the hourglass carefully. On four he twisted harder and the sand clock turned to a blur. A moment later the room dissolved and time began to fly backwards until they found themselves standing in the circle on the other side of the curtain.

With movements born out of habit, Harry immediately stepped out of the circle, sat down cross legged, placed his palms on his knees and closed his eyes.

Hugo in turn, stepped away from Harry, backing up against the wall and cast a refreshing charm on his charge, getting rid of any lingering lethargy.

"Define yourself," he said softly.

"Harry James Potter. I was born on 31 July 1989 to James and Lily Potter. After my parents murder, I spent three years of my life in the care of my mothers sister, Petunia Dursley. They mistreated me and abused me until I was taken away by the department of mysteries to become one of their agents in the field. Hugo Milner, is my handler and trainer and a dickhead as well."

Hugo rolled his eyes. He was relived it was Harry doing the talking and not one of his aliases.

"I spent two years in Detroit as James Keller; an eight year old student of the Detroit public school, where my task was to befriend Carl Smalling and Jake Macmillan in order to find a way to get close to Jennifer Franklin, daughter of Cromag Franklin; the boss of all things magical and illegal in the North America. In the middle of this my James Keller persona also travelled to Washington, under the guise of summer camp to meet with Macmillan's uncle who is an integral non magical gear in the vampires network and through him I... I mean James Keller will be able to negotiate entering the vampire business and through Jennifer Franklin, access to the movements of terrorists."

Harry paused and took a moment to catch his breath.

"Who did Harry Potter become next."

"Abdul Rafeeq, nine year old son of Faisal Rafeeq; runaway solider." Harry contained the inevitable shudder that ran through him when he recalled memories from the war torn Iran. "Abdul was recruited by the army to search for mines laid by the enemy and rightly fearing for his son's life, Faisal Rafeeq ran away to the magical city of Ahwaz."

The force of an exploding bomb flinging his body like a discarded rag, flashed in his mind and his vocal chords momentarily got jammed in his throat.

"Go on," Hugo said.

"Abdul's task, along with Faisal of course, was to ingrain himself with the network of mages in the Middle East. Since those who did not enlist in the magical army were executed, the story of being a deserter allowed them refugee in several magical households where they were introduced to the den of international smugglers who primarily dealt with cursed objects and on the sidelines, also dealt in the lucrative business of selling British made wands."

"And who were the key players he had to befriend here?"

"Sayeed in Ahwaz and Jeet in Cairo."

"Who went to Cairo?"

"Abdul Rafeeq with Sayeed and his father to be introduced to Sheik Akram, Jeet's father."

"And why is Jeet and his father so important?"

"Sheik Akram was identified as one of the men who visited Ebenezer Yaxley's residence after the attempt on the life of Amelia Bones; head of the magical law enforcement agency of the United Kingdom. Nancy Turner and her husband were killed in the attack leaving behind a child, Susan Turner I think."

Hugo pursed his lips and the sound reached Harry's letting him know that that was not good enough.

"Susan Turner was her name but Amelia Bones legally took custody of her and changed her name to Susan Bones," Harry added quickly.

His eyes were still closed, his body had not moved and he was mentally picturing everything that he said. The important part of the exercise was to view the events from the eyes of Harry Potter and not his other identities.

"What happened to Abdul after meeting with the Sheik?"

"Abdul was made to swear a vow of loyal service to the Sheik. A vow which would bind him the Sheik under Islamic law once he reached the age of sixteen. Abdul has to return to the Sheik when he is twelve to take the vows once more but this time in a more formal capacity. Abdul remained in the Middle East for one and half years before visiting New Delhi to get a wand from Timothy Parkinson; British exile."

"Was it Abdul who went?"

Harry mentally cursed. Of course it wasn't Abdul!

"Harry Potter visited Timothy Parkinson with the name Evans and his eye colour changed to brown and scar hidden behind unblemished skin."

His wrist began to throb when he remembered the incident that followed.

"What happened there?"

"Problems with magic," Harry said shortly. He didn't like reviewing that memory and he didn't. Harry Potter didn't like talking about that horrible afternoon in Timothy Parkinson's home.

Hugo recognised the reaction and smirked. Last week it had been Tyson talking very gaily about the incident but this time he was sure it was Harry. He was very pleased and relived.

"And where did Harry go after India?"

"He returned to the states as James Keller and reaffirmed his bonds of friendship with Carl and Jake for the simple task of tracking Jennifer's moments and finding a clue to the school she might enrol in after she turned twelve."

Jennifer Franklin was home schooled given her fathers status but she was to attend a private school after she turned twelve and Carl and Jake were going to be her bodyguards when she did. It was the family tradition. The sons of the bodyguards of the current boss grew up to become bodyguards for the boss's kids. That way the circle was small, trust was strong and the Council of mages in America was kept away.

"After a months vacation in the States, Hugo decided Harry was having too good a time and decided to take Harry into the worst magical dumps that could possibly exist in the world. There he took the identity of a repulsive boy named Tyson Storm so that he could prove his worth to the criminal filth and become a trusted member of their well informed circles."

Harry snapped his eyes open and they were burning with anger and rebellion. He absolutely hated being Tyson Storm and that was exactly what Hugo was hoping for.

But instead of looking pleased, he was frowning.

"What did I miss?" Harry asked sourly.

"Your accent was American _and_ German at times but never British."

"Fuck! I knew I was forgetting something!"

"There a lot you forget when there's so much you know. I hope this problem will be rectified soon enough. Anyway accents can always change but at least you know who you are."

"This exercise is pointless," Harry grumbled. "I'm still having dreams from different points of views and last night was a disturbingly wet one."

Hugo laughed. "I told you controlling your hormones would be handy but you were stubborn as usual. Now let's move on," he added seriously. "Time is short."

Harry immediately stood up and placed his feet exactly two feet apart with his hands hanging loosely at his sides with palms faced up and fingers evenly spaced.

"Deep slow breaths," Hugo said, his voice barely a whisper. He looked at the five and half feet tall boy who was sporting black hair and brown eyes; looking like a cross between Tyson and Harry without even realising it and decided it was time Harry returned to England. "Feel the magic rising from the base of your feet."

Harry's eyes flickered to green and Hugo knew he was finally doing it properly; The Amazonian magical art of hunting.

"Don't break the flow," he whispered when the air started to become thick with magic. "Keep the same rate of flow and guide the magic to your finger tips."

A crackle announced the manifestation of magic at his fingertips and with his eyes locked on Harry, he raised his arms towards his midriff and placed a foot in front of the other, slightly bent.

Harry copied the moments with unwavering focus and felt the magic in his body shift and morph with every moment. The magic had an emotional response varying from peaceful to aggressive and each change in stance evoked a different response.

Amazonian magical arts were very similar to martial arts but more lethal and destructive. Survival in a dangerous tropical jungle demanded a certain level of aggression.

The synchronised dance lasted for a whole hour and after Harry nearly collapsed in exhaustion. It was the first time he had lasted so long with Hugo.

"Excellent Harry!" Hugo exclaimed, very pleased with Harry's performance. "Very good indeed considering your condition!"

Harry grinned, his face red and sweaty after letting go of all that magic that was contained in his body. But even though the exercise was physically strenuous, he could feel something in him sing with pleasure. Maybe it was his mind or maybe even the magic that remained in him or perhaps it was his muscles feeling delighted after that wonderful workout. Whatever it was, it always left Harry feeling a little light headed.

"Shall we move on to runes?"

"You said if I lasted for more than an hour you'd tell me where you learnt this magic," Harry protested.

"Ah yes. Must have slipped my mind."

Harry scoffed. "Well?"

"My mother taught me," Hugo said simply.

Harry goggled at his mentor. Hugo had a mother? The thought had never crossed his mind and even if it was the natural order of things he just couldn't picture Hugo as a child with a family!

"Is she...?" Harry trailed into questioning silence not wanting to say his question out loud.

"She's alive and so is my father," Hugo said laughing. "I'm the one who's dead and gone."

"O! So you were born in the Amazon forest, umm in Brazil in a tribal clan I'm guessing," Harry said slowly, connecting the dots in his mind.

"That's right," Hugo confirmed, "that's where I get my killer looks from." And then he clapped his hands loudly. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, how about we get back to rune traps?"

This was Harry's life since his departure from Privet Drive. It began with confusion, excitement and curiosity before quickly descending into a world of crime and cruelty. If being the States taught him the meaning of betrayal and using people for personal gain, Iran taught him the frightful lessons of war and death. But the most deplorable lessons of all were learnt in the Devil's Cauldron. A place where even the most horrifying acts of crime were laughed off like laughing about a friend hiding another friends book or pen or maybe even his wand. Through James Keller, Harry learnt how to betray and experienced the guilt thereafter, as Abdul Rafeeq, he was introduced to the art of running away and dealing in the shadows and through Tyson Storm, the meaning of cruelty and depths of darkness humans were capable of falling to. Tyson had also taught Harry never to give up even when faced with overwhelming odds.

He had spent most of his time being someone else as compared to being himself and finally, after almost eight years, it was beginning to take toll on his mind.

"Are you listening to me, Harry!" Hugo's voice cut through his dark thoughts like the ray of light that he was to him.

"Yes yes," Harry said, feeling a bit annoyed. "The pentagram runic array coupled with _manaz_ and _isa_ at opposite ends results in the freezing of the moment of any person inside the array. Of course what you don't realise is that by adding _uruz_ at the exact centre the array will be activated after six seconds because _uruz_ and _isa_ do not compliment each other causing a slight time delay in the activation there by allowing more than one person to be trapped."

Harry said this mustering his most condescending tone in his arsenal and with as much contempt as possible.

Hugo was undaunted by the hostility. He was used to it and even encouraged it sometimes. "Where did you learn that?" he asked mildly.

Harry snorted. "Oh come on Hugo. It's fairly obvious once you understand how each rune interacts with the other. For example, if, instead of _uruz_, I drew _sowulo_, anyone caught in the pentagram would suffer second degree burns." Harry chuckled darkly. "And if instead of a pentagram array we drew the Stonehenge array, then they would turn to ash."

Hugo pondered over the usefulness of such an array.

"But of course, the runes have to drawn with the blood of the caster and they take too much time which is why no one uses it in a duel."

"A spy finds runes extremely useful because they don't duel, they wait and they hunt," Hugo reminded.

"Have you used runes during your missions?" Harry asked curiously. It was not often Hugo talked about his work with the department but every now and then he'd drop hints on Harry, for him to analyse.

"A few. The expert on runes is Charles. My missions are usually deep cover missions where I become one of the people I'm hunting. Which is what I'm trying to train you to become but as we both have discovered, you tend to ignore all advice and do things your own way."

"You taught me to be like that!"

Hugo pulled out his pouch of weed and rolled a joint. "Times almost up, you want to blaze?"

Harry narrowed his eyes and wondered why Hugo was offering from his own stash. The man was ridiculously protective about his weed. So, slowly and cautiously, Harry stretched his arm and carefully took the joint from between his long fingers.

"Light it with magic," Hugo said and Harry huffed. He knew there would be a catch. But this was a challenge he liked and he closed his eyes, once again summoning magic to his fingertips.

A little red spark burst out of his index finger and Harry took short and quick drags igniting the grass which had wonderful properties.

"Well done," Hugo said. "Now give it back."

Harry scowled, took a long drag and blew the smoke into Hugo's face.

Hugo's eyes glowed and Harry quickly handed the joint over. "Dick," he muttered under his breath.

"Times almost up," Hugo said. "Ten seconds."

Ten seconds before the Time Turner was turned on the other side of the curtain and another Harry and Hugo appeared in the circle behind the curtain.

"Two, one..." From the corner of the room, they slipped into the first half of the room, just in time to see a blur disappear from the circle.

Harry concentrated and morphed back into fifteen year old Tyson Storm and was ready to leave and find his friends when Hugo stopped him.

"We're leaving in a couple of hours," he said.

Tyson gaped."Seriously?"

"Say your goodbyes and relay promises of your return. It's time to return to England."

Harry stared at Hugo with a slack jaw and round eyes. "Are you messing with me?"

"You're going to turn eleven soon... Well, technically you'll be turning eleven in five months. There's a lot of work that needs to be done to explain your absence from Privet Drive and the fact that you won't be attending Hogwarts."

"That's ... I mean... Are you... ?" Harry was unable to articulate the odd feeling of happiness that was bubbling inside him.

"Time to leave Harry. Now go and tell your friends you'll be acquiring some brooms very soon and come back in two hours while I go and arrange our means of departure."

Harry nodded, closed his eyes and embraced the personality of Tyson. A smirk lit up his face on reflex and his eyes grew smaller, radiating arrogance and mischief as he made his way to The Den on level fourteen.

Henry on the other hand, travelled down South to level thirty five. Entering the Devil's Cauldron was easy but leaving it on the other hand was no simple task. The ratio of people leaving every day barely made a percent of the population in the hole and yet it seemed like thousands came and left every single day. That in itself was an indication to the number of people living in the hole. The means of entering the Cauldron was a broom and the broom was taken away by the landlord and passed on to those who could afford to buy it. Henry's cover did not allow him to have more than five galleons on him and the cost of a broomstick went as high as thirty galleons. A number that meant a lot to the poverty stricken. However stealing a broom was acceptable and Henry had a plan that would ensure the name Tyson Storm would be remembered by those who loved violence.

It was with ease that Hugo or Henry, as he was known in these parts, travelled through the tunnels and climbed down ladders that lead towards the bottom. There were fourth seven levels in the Devil's Cauldron and the levels beyond thirty were simply referred to as the pits. Only the insane occupied those levels. Psychopaths, werewolves broken by the pain of endless transformations, vampires with an unhealthy addiction to magical blood, serial killers, creatures that bore no name and half giants with an appetite for human flesh. Such were the occupants of the pits and it was the wardens duty to ensure they stayed in the pits. Of course that never worked since it was those in the pit that held items those above the pit considered priceless.

Like a ghost in the gale, Hugo breezed through short cuts and secret passages until he reached his destination. The home of Victoria the vampire, the blood whore of level thirty five.

On his way down, Hugo had idly weaved a complex illusion around his body that made him look exactly like Tyson and when he knocked on the doors of Victoria's shop, the vampire was delighted to find a sumptuous meal on her front door.

Her delight didn't last long when suddenly silver chains flew at her and wrapped around her neck and wrists with a speed that even the two hundred year old vampire found blinding.

"So sorry about this bitch," laughed Tyson sadistically. "But I hear that you're the whore who keeps all the brooms and I need a broom."

The vampire was spitting, hissing and struggling under the burning effects of silver on her skin. Red welts were popping all over and for good measure Tyson bound her ankles as well.

"You look terribly mad," he chuckled, "Is the pain so blinding that you can't even speak?"

Tyson or Hugo stood up and patted the vampire mockingly on the forehead.

"You're a dead man!" she howled, lowered her fangs and snarling insults with spit flying all over. She tried to wiggle and free herself but it caused her skin to burn even more and her eyes watered with terrible pain.

"Scream bitch," Tyson said laughing. "Music is quite soothing while I search your little store.

Oh how she screamed and ranted but it was of no use. The teenagers face was imprinted in her mind for ever as he ransacked her store and found at least a dozen brooms inside not to mention the stack of wands and tinned food neatly kept in a pile in a trap door under the mattress.

"Thanks so much for the brooms. The rest I don't need so it's yours to keep," Tyson said bowing. "I wouldn't leave leaving you like this but considering the circumstances I want to make a statement.

A sliver blade was whipped out of his pockets and the vampires lovely red robe was sliced open, revealing her attractive nude body.

"Umm, yummy," Tyson said grinning perversely and carefully dug the knife into her abdomen.

The screams she made attracted a lot of attention and by the time he was done, there was quite a crowd outside.

Tucking the brooms under his arm and after whipping the blood of his hands on her robes, Tyson waved at the crowd of werewolves and wizards outside who were watching with stunned disbelief. Victoria had been untouchable for twenty years. She ruled the level and the hoarded items of value like a magpie that had an obsession with shiny things. But now a teenager with some silver had pinned her to the floor and humiliated her like she humiliated every other species in the pit.

"Enjoy," said Tyson and with a confident gait, left the scene.

When the grinning werewolves and greedy humans entered the room with depraved intentions, they saw the following words carved into her skin.

_Tyson Storm thanks you for your lovely gifts_.

That name would not be forgotten in a hurry.

-x-

"Are you going to miss me Natasha?" Tyson teased.

"Shut up," spat the girl with a slight Russian accent. "I don't want to talk to you nor do I ever want to see you again!"

Tyson laughed again. "Why is she mad at me guys?" he asked the little band of friends that weren't little anymore.

"Gia was raped yesterday and you laughed and said she was stupid to go down to the levels below," said Jeremy idly carving an image in the wall with a pretty knife that he had nicked.

"Well she was stupid! and where is she anyway? I really want to remind her of her stupidity."

Natasha screamed in rage and launched herself on Tyson punching every part that she could lay her hands on. "Have you ever been violated that you have the audacity to laugh about it?!"

"Get her off me for god sake!" he yelled batting her hands away.

Gale and Jeremy pulled her away grinning while they did so.

The red head reverted to her native tongue and screamed all sorts of obscenities at him.

Tyson wasn't fazed at all. "Calm down already, she's not dead right?"

Natasha huffed and shoved the two boys away. "No. But I'm sure she'd be happy if you'd show a little sympathy. She went down to level twenty because she was hungry," she said accusingly.

Her angry visage reminded Tyson of the lovely dream he was having last night and a lecherous grin grew on his face as he admired her beauty. Of course she was older in his dreams and It was the knowledge that he was, in fact, Harry Potter, eleven years old, that controlled his raging libido.

"Where are you getting the brooms," she asked scowling. "You know you'd have to go really far below to get one. Only one in about a hundred ever succeed and leave you know."

"Your tone suggests that you want me to try and fail," Tyson said dryly.

"It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world."

"Your mum will miss me a lot. I was her source for getting a fix after all."

Fourteen year old Natasha had come to the Devil's Cauldron six months ago with a mother who was addicted to blue pixie powder. It was a powerful hallucinogenic that made the user literally visit and live in a wonderland of their making. Natasha hated her mother for it and everyday she cursed god for giving her such a mother and a father who was best left unmentioned.

She had met Tyson, Gale, Jeremy and Gia since they were the ones who dealt the drug on level sixteen to eighteen.

"Are you forgetting about your friends," she sneered.

Tyson laughed and turned towards Gale. "You guys got the balls to visit Mikhael for the monthly drops?"

"Gia will do it for sure," Gale said warily. "She got nerves of steel that one, that she does. Something as insignificant as rape isn't going to bum her out." Gale laughed at his crude pun.

"How can you say that?!" gasped Natasha.

"Give it a year and you'll understand the cost of living here," Jeremy said wisely. He didn't mention that Gale had suffered the same when he was younger and Tyson had literally fought for his life to avoid that humiliating fate. "And don't you worry Natasha. We'll make sure your mother gets her weekly medicine."

"She could die for all I care," spat the girl.

_Time is running out, Tyson_. A voice that belonged to Harry reminded the boy.

"I think I ought to go and get the brooms now," Tyson said. "And I suppose this is goodbye for now."

Gale came over and hugged Tyson. "I'm going to miss you."

"Quit it Gale," laughed Jeremy and was surprised when Tyson didn't protest and push the boy away. "Tyson?"

Tyson came over and gave a one arm hug to his other best friend he had made in the last year. Of course it wasn't an insignificant detail that his father served under Voldemort's Death Eaters at one point and continued to work for them even after the fall of the dark lord. Jeremy was a wealth of information about the kind of work his father did for Walden McNair - respected official and pure blood in the British magical community.

Tyson hugged even Natasha and kissed her cheek softly. The kiss was motivated by Harry's emotions and not Tyson's. "Don't get careless and become another victim of the perverted bastards alright?"

Natasha a just pushes him away and scowled. "Like you're one to talk," she said sarcastically. "Or did you forget the numerous girls whose behind you've groped accidentally."

Jeremy and Gale snorted loudly.

"It's not funny!" Natasha shouted. "You should be ashamed of yourselves and anyway, I'd like to see you get a broom in the first place," she added scornfully.

Tyson just winked at her, arousing a heated glare from the re head and shouted, "Good bye bitches!" They waved disinterestedly and Tyson left the little room that Gale and Jeremy had carved into the end of one the tunnels on level eighteen and aptly named The Den.

Harry had perfected the art of timing under the tutelage of Hugo and exactly two hours later, he was standing in front of his home of three years and Hugo had finished packing the little stuff that they had.

Harry's sharp eyes picked out the traces of blood on his dirty shirt and he raised an eyebrow in question.

"Tyson isn't going to be forgotten," Hugo said lightly and gestured towards the seven broomsticks on the floor.

Harry's eyes widened at he implication. "You mean?"

"Yes."

"My contacts will be in danger!" Harry gasped. He was still wearing the Tyson mask but his real personality was back the moment he left the Den.

"The brooms are charmed to end up in your silly hideout. If your contacts are smart, they'll leave or they'll sell the brooms and continue their miserable lives in this slum."

Harry frowned. "I don't get it. Didn't I spend three years just ensuring that I have loyal contacts in this slum?!"

"They're almost grown up," Hugo said. "They know where the pit is. And the fact that you gave them brooms to leave will make them grateful to you forever. In other words, they'll be contacts indebted to you and above the ground with contacts of their own in the Devil's Cauldron. These are the beginnings of your own elaborate network."

Harry couldn't believe it. Why hadn't he come to that conclusion as well?!

Hugo read his mind and smiled. "You still have a lot to learn Harry," he said. "The clandestine world needs more than an incredible IQ."

Harry just shook his head warily. "I should have thought of it," he said morosely.

"We'll talk about it later," he said and tossed the remaining brooms minus two in the air. They whizzed away at great speeds using the unique ventilation system of the underground and headed straight for the Den where Tyson's friends were getting high to celebrate Harry's ambitious hope for escape from the Cauldron.

"Ready to go back to England?" Hugo asked grinning.

"More than you know," Harry replied excitedly.

_Home is where the heart lies after all_.

-x-

The flight out of the cauldron and into the world above had Harry filled with so many emotions that when he looked at the faces of those flying up beside him, he understood the true meaning of that blank and glazed expression. When he flew down three years ago, he thought it was an expression of cold detachment from life and hope but now he knew it was the complete opposite. He could see the overflowing volume of hope and dreams that kicked up a storm behind every eye that was fixed on the opening that grew larger with every second. They had come to Cauldron after running away from a life that had all but kicked them into the hole, but now they were revitalised with strength and had summoned the courage that was required to fight their way out.

So many people, so many dreams and yet, ultimately, they were to be a part of the society that rejected them on plain sight. They would be condemned to the shadows and forced to live a life that was intimate with crime and premature death. It was the same no matter what part of the world it was. It was only the people who belonged to a so called _proper_ society - who had notions of superiority and categories of human class - who were the ones that thought they were better than others and lived under that delusion until the day they died.

Hugo led Harry straight into the Earth above the hole and after a brief moment of discomfort - being surrounded by mud and roots which blocked your sight and didn't crush you was disconcerting - they materialised above the forest.

Harry had forgotten how real fresh air smelt. His first breath on the mountain air was better than any rush he had experienced with Tyson's brief foray into the world of drugs. Oh, he could feel the lightness of the air, the distinct smell and taste of untamed nature. He felt the cold wind bite into his skin with aching familiarity and with eyes closed and blindly flying upwards, he took repeated breaths that expanded his lungs to breaking point. He just couldn't get enough of this air that made being alive worth all the horrors the world could bestow on him.

"So this is was freedom tastes like," Harry sighed and opened his eyes to darkness that felt like a velvet cushion. Darkness in the Cauldron was suffocating but this darkness felt like bath in a pool of calming draught.

Hugo was hovering beside him. It was the dim light of the half moon that allowed them to see and slowly, Harry's other senses returned.

There was no much to be seen but there was a lot to be heard. More specifically, he could hear the sound of the wind and millions of insects singing in their broken high pitched voices. It sounded like they were crying more than singing.

"Follow me," Hugo said softly, flying higher still, heading towards the closest peak.

The screech of owls and bats penetrated the air with regularity and more than once, Harry heard the forest below rustle like something big was weaving through it. He didn't care to find out and instead revelled in the sounds of nature that were devoid in the Cauldron. More than anything, the lack of people and human voices elicited a strange delight in him.

Harry didn't want this feeling to end.

They flew to a jutting platform on a particularly steel mountain side a few hundred meters up and landed there. Harry watched Hugo dig a hole where x marked the spot with his wand doing most of the work. Inside was a small red bag.

"What's that?"

"Portkey I didn't fancy taking into the cauldron," Hugo replied. He straightened his back and yawned. "Want to wait for sunrise or shall we return to the ministry?"

"Sunrise!" Harry said immediately. He wondered if it still looked the same or had there been some cool solar phenomenon that made the sun look different in his three year exile from the land above.

Experiencing the sunrise was glorious. If watching the sun rise in a metropolitan city was beautiful then watching the sky turn blue while sitting on a ledge in the midst of gigantic wild trees with vines crawling everywhere and the sounds of a thousand birds rising to a high pitched cacophony providing music and breathing in air that was so clean and pure that it hurt to inhale at times was akin to nirvana.

Harry knew most of his feelings came from being stuck underground for years and these precious minutes of breaking free of figurative darkness were the best of his as yet short life.

Hugo kept silent and observed the emotions playing on Harry's face. He knew what was going through the boys mind and it was something he wanted Harry to experience because after a few years when Harry would become a full fledged agent for the DOI. All these experiences and first hand knowledge of the criminal mind would be vital to his decision making process. A spy had to be above any emotions that would cloud his judgment and that had been Hugo's primary objective when he decided to take Harry under his care. There had to be nothing that could make Harry's heart and mind waver when in the field and so far he was very satisfied with the way Harry had dealt with real life crisis.

The sun was rising faster and the air was getting warmer. It was time to leave and there was a way to reacclimatise to the feeling of walking under the sun again.

He held out the portkey towards Harry and gestured with his eyes for Harry to touch it.

"Summit," he said and the portkey glowed blue.

-x-

**_REVIEW! They motivate me._**


	6. Mission Dumbledore

**MISSION DUMBLEDORE**

**25TH JULY 1991, HOGWARTS**

"Sending out the letters Minerva?"

Minerva McGonagall; deputy headmistress of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, was busy duplicating the acceptance letters and changing the names according to the detailed list of the Hogwarts registry. The thick yellow parchment neatly folded itself before zipping into an envelope and immediately an address, in dark green ink, was magically written out in neat cursive handwriting.

She was working in her classroom, a place she felt most comfortable in and since it was the summer break, all the tables and chairs were piled up, one on top of the other at the other end of the room. Half a dozen candles were hovering over her head, giving her enough light to do her work without squinting.

The thick enchanted register had the names of every magical child born in a radius of seven hundred miles with the school as the epicentre since the creation of Hogwarts and it had taken the founders years and untold hardships to ensure the magic remained strong for as long as magic existed. The register was charmed to be read only by the current headmaster or deputy of Hogwarts and a name and current address was what it was enchanted to hold.

Two dozen owls, with seemingly important looks on their owlish faces, stood in line on the floor and one by one flew up to her desk as soon as a letter was ready to be dispatched. The owl's clenched the letter in their claws and took flight through the open windows that had a breath taking view of the forbidden forest, instinctively flying to the addressees.

"Almost thirty students this year," she said, pleased. "Five more than last year."

"Wonderful," Albus Dumbledore said smiling and he meant it. More students was always good news for the magical world. "And Harry Potter?" he asked lightly.

Minerva glanced at the registry. "Five more before his name," she said.

Both eagerly waited for his turn to come and when it did, Minerva frowned at the address on the envelope.

"Smallest bedroom?" she muttered, her tone clipped with accusation and she looked at Albus, waiting for an explanation. She had seen first hand how horrible those muggles were and assumed the worst immediately.

"Why do you look so stern Minerva," Dumbledore asked, amused. "Surely you don't expect all the rooms in the Dursley's residence to be of the same size!"

"No," Minerva said turning pink. "I just thought..."

Dumbledore understood what she was trying to say. "Mrs. Figg has been watching over him Minerva. And her monthly reports are not negative in the least. If you are so worried, would you like to retake the job of introducing muggleborns to our world again? I'm sure Pomona would gladly hand over the duties back to you."

Minerva paled. "No thank you," she said quickly. "I just... Oh forget it! I might be overthinking things a tad too much."

"The owl is waiting Minerva," Dumbledore reminded.

"Oh right," she muttered and gave the owl the letter. "Sorry," she added, apologising for almost accusing the headmaster of allowing the most famous child in the magical world to be mistreated by his narrow minded relatives. Surely Arabella would have alerted them if Harry was being ill treated.

They watched the owl; holding the letter that would mark the beginning of a plan that was born ten years ago, fly majestically into the night, heading straight for the letter box at number 4 Privet Drive.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**26th JULY 1991, 7.00 A.M.**

Early morning joggers couldn't stop staring at number 4 Privet Drive. Their wonderful repetitive routine was jarring disturbed by what lay at the footsteps of number four.

A figure, clearly human, was curled up and fast asleep on the front porch of the house. The style of clothing made it evident it was a he and he was wearing dark jeans and a shirt that had a hoodie covering his head. He was curled up with his hands folded and legs drawn to his chest, radiating an aura of misery.

Mrs Polkiss gasped out loud when she saw the vagrant on the Dursley's porch and she couldn't wait to spread the news about the latest scandal to rock Privet Drive. A homeless man taking refuge at number four?! She laughed, a nasally laugh, and concluded that clearly number four was the dirtiest house among all and that was what had attracted the dirty cretin to those steps!

Harry Potter was oblivious to all the stares he was getting and in his dreams he was cursing Croaker creatively for giving him a task he wished he could avoid like the plague and hence he was camping on the steps of the house he hated as a child in rebellion to the order. Of course he could have acted civilised and come at a time of convenience to the Dursley's to collect his Hogwarts letter but that wouldn't have been as fun as what he had planned.

His sleep was disturbed when the newspaper boy threw the tightly rolled paper at his head and a huge blob of a man tripped over his body and fell when he opened the door to collect it.

At first Vernon was confused and then he spotted the waking boy and his face turned purple. He wanted to shout but the eager stares of the neighbours halted the oncoming tirade.

Harry opened his eyes and sat up sleepily and locked eyes with his dear old uncle Vernon. "Nice to see you uncle," he said yawning and watched in delight as his uncle recognised those vibrant green eyes and the blood drained from his face. "I'll just put on a cup of tea if you don't mind. It's mighty cold this morning."

Vernon crushed the newspaper in his fist, his mind thrown out of sync and the sudden and mind boggling event but then hurried inside after the boy he had hoped never to see again. He banged the door shut and his eyes, wild with fury, swept through the living room and kitchen, where, to his horror, he actually saw him filling the tea kettle with water, put two spoons of tea leaves into the kettle and setting it on the stove to boil.

"Get away from there you freak!" he roared and rushed into the kitchen, his hands raised and ready to strike.

Without looking Harry, his eyes still crusty and yearning for sleep, shifted half a feet to his left and Vernon's hand slammed into the burning stove. He screamed and withdrew his hand as fast as he could.

Harry heard someone running down the stairs and with a grin stretching from ear to ear, waited for his aunt to show up. When she did she clamped her mouth with her hands, her eyes widened and her body turned cold.

"Is my presence so terrifying?" Harry asked mildly.

Petunia was still shell shocked and Vernon was clenching his hand and glaring at Harry with pure loathing.

Harry turned back to the kettle and waited patiently for the water to reach boiling point. Neither of the Dursley's said a word while Harry busied himself, looking through the cupboards for a cup and saucer.

A couple of minute later, steam began to rise out of the narrow opening of the kettle and Harry poured the tea into his cup and added a little milk and sugar, giving it the rich brown colour that he loved.

He didn't bother putting some for the befuddled couple and raised the cup mockingly at them before taking a sip.

"Please join me at the dining table," Harry said walking past them. "And Vernon, bring the metal tube which father Illiosis gave you all those years ago."

The name of the priest snapped them out of their shock and Vernon calmed himself. His doctor had warned him about letting his blood pressure rise and he took two deep breaths to rein in his temper. "Why are you here?" he asked stiffly. "Did father Illiosis send you?"

Harry laughed. He couldn't believe Vernon had fallen for such a ploy but then Croaker had told him Alan Shaw was a man with incredible powers of conviction. Getting reacquainted with a world of niceties turned out to be harder than Harry had imagined but he wasn't complaining. It was a refreshing change but Croaker had hinted it was going to change soon. After his task with the Dursley's was completed, he was to be briefed about his first mission with the DOI.

"Well?" Vernon demanded and Harry sighed.

"Bring me the umm.. What did Illiosis tell you it was? Ah, yes, the talisman. Bring the talisman and I will explain everything."

Harry sat down at the head of the dinning table and smiled serenely at Petunia. "Could you cook some bacon and eggs please, Aunt Petunia. I've missed your delightful cooking skills."

Petunia blinked. In the short time they had spent together, she had never cooked his meagre morsels with any care or love. But his soft, yet persuasive voice made her scuttle to the kitchen and gather the pots and pans without a thought of protest.

Vernon brought the talisman and banged it on the table before settling into the chair opposite to Harry with a scowl on his face.

Harry smiled charmingly in return and sipped his tea after slipping the tube into his pocket.

Bread, butter, bacon and eggs. Harry sighed wistfully when his aunt set his overflowing plate down and nervously took a seat beside her husband.

A question that had been hanging on the edge of Petunia's tongue finally gathered the courage to voice itself. "Why are you so big?" she blurted out.

Harry paused in the middle of piling eggs on the toast.

"You should be eleven years old," she continued with a quiver of fear in her voice. "But you look like you're sixteen or seventeen!"

"I feel comfortable in this form," Harry replied. "Shrinking down to five feet or less makes me very uncomfortable."

Vernon and Petunia goggled. What did that even mean?!

Harry was laughing in his mind. This was one memory he would never forget. He wanted to give them a big scare initially but then changed his mind. He wasn't that vindictive and he barely remembered the time he spent in Privet Drive anymore. He wasn't sure if he had gotten over the treatment they had dished out or had be suppressed the memories? Whatever the case, his experiences in the Middle East and the Cauldron made him think of the Dursley's with mild amusement now.

"How are your kids?" Harry asked and took a large bite out the sandwich he had made for himself. It was delicious.

"They're fine. Dudley is coming along nicely and Harry got admission into Bart's Academy after topping his class." Petunia said this with pride and Harry was glad to hear that they weren't ill treating his replacement.

"Are you going to make small talk or are you going to tell us why you're here!" Vernon hissed rudely.

Harry glanced at his watch. It was half past seven. "What time does your mail arrive?"

Petunia blinked, then frowned and then her eyebrows shot up in comprehension.

"Pet?" Vernon asked, not understanding what Harry meant.

"You're here for the letter!" she breathed.

"That's right. And knowing what kind of people you are, you would have ignored the letter or tossed it into the fireplace which would result in dozens of letters showing up at your house until you read it and responded, which you can't do."

Vernon and Petunia paled.

"So you're here for the letter and then you'll leave," Vernon muttered.

Harry nodded and polished the remaining bits of eggs from his plate.

Vernon stood up abruptly and marched out of the house to the letterbox waiting impatiently for the post man to show up. He wanted the freak out of his house and fast!

When the post man showed up, Vernon marched over to him, wearing slippers and his bathroom robes without caring what the neighbours thought and demanded the surrender of his post.

The poor postman was alarmed by the scary look on the obese man and quickly dug his hands and gave the letters addressed to number four. But to Vernon's confusion, there was no letter for Harry and he walked back to the house. Before he entered, however, there was a screech above his head and an owl, an owl dropped a thick envelope on his head before taking flight.

Vernon let out a strangled yell and slipped on the steps and fell for the second time in an hour.

Cursing and grumbling, Vernon heaved his massive bulk upright, picked up the letter, forced a smile at the few neighbours who were watching with bewilderment and hurried inside with a terrible temper just waiting to be unleashed.

He had to leave for office at nine and he pitied the poor soul who was likely to test his temper today.

"Here's your sodding letter," he spat, throwing the letter at his nephews face.

Harry snatched it out of the air with blinding fast reflexes and thanked Vernon. He then opened the envelope, removed the parchment and scanned it with a wry smile. A moment later, he dug his hands in his pockets and pulled out a lighter and burnt the letter to ash.

The black soot floated to the floor, dirtying the carpet and the Dursley's looked completely lost.

"May I have a pen and paper please?" Harry asked Petunia.

She nodded and quickly tore a sheet from the notepad hanging beside the telephone and picked out a ball pen from the shelf below.

"Thank you," Harry said and focused his attention on the letter of refusal that he had to write. He could hear Hugo saying, _Make it as insulting as possible. Make it so rude that the old fart loses bladder control._

Harry grinned and ignoring the imaginary advice.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_ he wrote.

_Thank you for the warm invitation to Hogwarts but I'm sorry to have to decline your offer._

_As a ward of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and effectively the Ministry of Magic, I have been provided with an excellent education in magic from a very young age._

_Under the guidance of the teachers chosen by the ministry I am set to take the ordinary wizard level exams in sixteen months time._

_Once again, thank you for the offer but I must decline._

_Sincerely,  
Harry James Potter_

_P.S: For further communications, contact Glen Savage; my guardian_.

Harry read the letter again and appeared satisfied. "What do you think Petunia?" Harry said showing his aunt the letter. "Is it fine?"

"It's fine," she said faintly.

"Now where's that blasted owl?" Harry muttered. "It should be around here somewhere."

On cue a ball of feathers burst out of the fireplace, sending ash flying everywhere.

Vernon gasped and Petunia shrieked.

"My reply," Harry said to the owl and in a smooth movement, the owl grasped the folded letter carefully in its talons and flew out through the chimney, back to Hogwarts.

"If you're done get out," Vernon hissed his eyes glittering with hate and contempt. The knowledge that the boy was leaving reignited his bravado and disgust for all things magical. "Get out and never ever show your face at my doorstep again!"

Anger stabbed Harry in the back upon hearing that familiar tone. It triggered memories of constant degradation. Memories of that voice resurfaced in his mind... Voices that were always followed by pain... and only emoted misery. Maybe he had just suppressed the memories after all.

"Don't worry I won't," he said coldly. "My purpose in coming here was the letter and..." Harry paused and smirked evilly. "And ending the protection spell that has made your house invisible to magical folk. Goodbye and good riddance to you," he said, savouring the identical looks of horror on their faces before activating his portkey and disappearing right in front of their eyes.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**26TH JULY, 1991, 9.00PM, HOGWARTS**

_Dear Professor Flamel,_

_I know you intend to destroy your stone and depart for the next great adventure but I must urge you to reconsider. Alarming events have come to light..._

An owl swooped through the window and dropped a letter over the letter Albus Dumbledore was composing. He sighed irritably and put down his quill to see what was so urgent that the owl had to interrupt his important letter writing.

He unfolded the letter and his eyebrows disappeared into layers of wrinkles as he read the contents of the letter.

_Impossible! This is impossible!_

Dumbledore's mind was spinning in reverse. Reviewing all his memories with a speed that defied age, deducing and calculating points of divergence, any point at which his plan portrayed a blind spot.

His faster than light thoughts froze to a halt when a particular memory stood out in his mind. A memory of a man who made him feel a little suspicious but had overlooked that suspicion knowing the man was a muggle.

_Arts teacher, 1984._

Of course! He thought furiously, crushing the letter in his hands. He had to be an agent of the ministry. Department of magical law enforcement? What hogwash. This sort of subtlety and intelligence could only originate from the department of mysteries. But why? Why would the unspeakable go to such lengths to take away Harry? What could they possibly gain besides the true knowledge about Harry's scar? It wasn't like they could remove that parasite that infected the boy without killing him so why didn't they return him back to Privet Drive after examining him?

Dumbledore could have slapped himself for overlooking the obvious.

_The prophecy! Don't tell me they're attempting to mould the boy into a fighter!_

Dumbledore knew, his experience with dark magic told him it was not a one on one duel that would end Voldemort for good. No, destroying the dark lord needed a much more clever approach than a smash and bang one.

The headmaster stood up, thinking about all the plans he had. All the plans which revolved around Harry Potter, all the plans which were most likely ruined thanks to some wizards who didn't understand the root of the problem. He began to pace around his office, ignoring the questions of the magical portraits and laying a new foundation for the future of his plans.

But he was unable to think clearly and it took the song of a Phoenix to calm his nerves.

He had to get Harry Potter back to his side. The only question was how.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**27TH JULY 1991, 9:15 AM, MINISTRY OF MAGIC**

"Ch-chief warlock Dumbledore!"

"I'm here to see the head of the department of mysteries," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Is Elaine doing well?"

"She's doing fine sir; we just had our first child."

"My heartiest congratulations," Dumbledore said sincerely. "Boy or a girl?"

"Girl. I'm already preparing a list of spells to repel potential boyfriends," the gateman joked, grinning.

Dumbledore laughed. "I look forward to seeing her at Hogwarts," he said.

"Of course! Oh, didn't you want to meet the department head of mysteries? Err… I mean the head of the department of mysteries!"

"That's right."

"Appointment or social visit?"

"Unlikely business," Dumbledore said, heaving a sigh.

"Just a minute," Fred, the ministry clerk said. He wrote 'Albus Dumbledore here to meet HOD, Mysteries' and tapped the parchment with his wand. The parchment folding into a paper plane and immediately took off, towards the department of mysteries.

"Would like to wait for a reply or go on ahead?"

"Doesn't regulation say I have to wait?" Dumbledore reminded mildly.

Fred laughed. "Well it's you sir! The ministry welcomes your presence with a red carpet!"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well I suppose I could find my way to the bowels of the ministry," he said. "You could send me a memo if Croaker replies."

"Of course, Sir!"

"Good day Fred."

"You too, Sir!"

The perks of power, Dumbledore mused.

At the front office, the place where visitors were allowed to meet with a representative from the department, Dumbledore was guided to the back room where Croaker was waiting with eleven year old Harry Potter.

Dumbledore controlled his emotions. _All my brilliant plans, ruined. But not for long. Not for long._

This Harry Potter was very different from the one on the steps of number 4 Privet Drive. He was barely over five feet, seemed well fed with baby fat on his cheeks, had an angry lightening shaped scar in the middle of his forehead, black messy hair reminiscent of his father and vibrant green eyes that could only have been inherited from his mother.

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore breathed. "You look just like your father," he said warmly. "But your eyes ... They surely are your mothers."

"Thank you Professor," Harry said. His heart skipped a beat at the soothing and comforting voice and he felt the need to trust this man and put his faith in his guidance. Such was the power of Dumbledore but Harry saw right through the facade.

Harry could feel the power that was contained in the old body and one of the things he had learnt was those with great power had selfish desires. His rule of thumb was power equals untrustworthy. And Dumbledore was powerful indeed.

"Why aren't you with your uncle and aunt?" he asked with a frown. "They must be worried sick."

"Ah about that," Croaker said, annoyed at being ignored. "They're perfectly fine without him and I hope you didn't harass them after Harry's lovely letter to you."

"I find it hard to believe Mr. Potter could pen such a letter."

"I did write it professor," Harry said. "My tutors at the ministry have ensured that I do not need to attend Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts is more than just an education my boy! It is an environment which welcomes a boy and says goodbye to a man who has learnt valuable lessons about life! It is a place like no other and it pains me to hear you say you do not wish to attend! Surely your guardians will reconsider?"

Harry wanted to tell him about all the lessons he had learnt but wisely kept his mouth shut and looked towards Croaker for instructions.

The new head of the DOI and DOM glared at Dumbledore. "Today at noon, Minister Fudge will be issuing a public statement about the Boy Who Lived. About how he was rescued from abusive muggles, where he was abandoned by the venerable Chief Warlock and eventually rescued by the ministry to be raised in a ministry sanctioned environment fit for the defeater of the dark lord."

A dangerous spike of magic flooded the room.

"The minister will also inform the public about the desire of Harry Potter to become an Auror and protect the people of magical Britain in the future. And instead of sending him to Hogwarts, the ministry itself will work hard to make the boys dreams come true. The public will eat the story blindly and you, Dumbledore, will become very unpopular indeed."

The expression on Dumbledore's was terrible. His face outwardly was devoid of emotion and blank but his eyes were furious and the entire room trembled with the fury of his magic.

Harry shrank into his corner feeling very intimidated. The magic Dumbledore was exuding, stimulated his fear like never before and he was wondering if it was a wise decision to make a man like this their enemy.

"But of course the bit about the abuse shall not be added, unless a certain someone doesn't oppose us," Croaker added, not fazed by the magic in the least.

The magic disappeared and Harry let out a sigh of relief.

"How did you do it?" Dumbledore asked finally. "I know the Arts teacher at Harry's school was your man but how did he get around my wards?"

Shock filled Harry at the words of the headmaster but his reaction went unnoticed by the clashing men. Arts teacher? School? How long had the department been watching me before the priest showed up?!

"It doesn't matter when and how it happened. The point is, Harry Potter, is legally a ward of the ministry, specifically the DMLE," Croaker said and he pushed the paperwork towards Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's eyes looked down through his half moon spectacles and read the first few lines before realising there was nothing he could do to turn things around in his favour.

"Do you think the public will accept an announcement that practically says you're favouring a boy and alienating him from a proper education and friends?"

"He's the Boy Who Lived," Croaker said smirking. "Normal doesn't apply to him and more importantly you lied about the prophecy. You lied about his importance to our future. You sent him to the Dursley's so that an abused child would show up at your school and all the love and affection you would shower upon him would make him a Dumbledore's man through and through. Unfortunate for you, we like to keep track of things that have a hint of mystery behind them and Harry Potter was one of the biggest of 1980. Do you have anything to say before you leave Albus?"

"I don't see how you have done different," Dumbledore said coldly. It was true. All that had changed was the person controlling Harry's life but the fact that Harry was well aware of it was what made all the difference in the grand scheme of things. "And you let him hear the prophecy? You let a eleven year old child hear the prophecy?" he said, looking sad.

"Actually I was four," Harry piped and then fell silent to Croaker's glare.

"Four years old," Dumbledore said, shocked. "Would you really burden a child with such knowledge?"

Croaker betrayed no emotion and was content to let Dumbledore leap to whatever conclusion he saw fit. The existence of the DOI was a closely guarded secret after all and no one, not even the Wizengamot nor the international community, knew of its existence.

"What have they done to you Harry?" Dumbledore whispered in a broken voice.

"They taught me how saint like you are."

The sarcastic tone pulled a string of Dumbledore's temper. "And what do they expect from you?"

"Well a first class Auror is the ultimate goal but until them I am going to become the ministry mascot," Harry said. "My existence is to make sure the Minister's popularity sky rockets."

"That's what they want. But what about what you want. Have you ever given any thought to that?" Dumbledore said softly. He was not liking the way Harry was speaking one bit. "Don't you want to discover your own self instead of letting others do it for you?"

"The Boy Who Lived will be personally trained by handpicked Aurors," Harry said blandly, ignoring the nasty little voices that were summoned thanks to Dumbledore's words. "I think that beats going to school a hundred times over."

"What about friends? The experience of Hogwarts? The adventure of discovering magic?"

"Cut the sales pitch Mr. Dumbledore. I'm a ministry mascot through and through."

Dumbledore was done probing Harry's character. It was not going to be easy to bring Harry to his side. He could see what a thorough job the unspeakables had done on him. He would back off for now and collect all the data about Harry's childhood before making a move. He was the only one who could save England from the coming darkness and he would not let some clueless ministry worker get in his way.

"I'm sure you'll change your mind Harry," Dumbledore murmured and stood up. "It was nice meeting you my boy and I hope you can find the time to visit Hogwarts before making up your mind. Croaker, always a pleasure."

"Good day," the most powerful man in Britain said and left.

"So how'd I do?"

"Ministry mascot," Croaker chuckled. "Nice touch."

"Hugo wanted me to say Ministry dog but that's just demeaning to me."

"And mascot is not?"

Harry shrugged.

"Are you ready to meet the minister and start your first solo mission?"

"This is going to be a long year," Harry sighed.

"It's necessary if you want to disappear into the cloud of anonymity once more."

Harry just sighed. A year of interacting with slippery politicians. What joy!

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**21ST JULY 1991, ABANDONED HOUSE, BRIXTON. (Before meeting the Dursley's)**

A mirror and a mattress. That's all he needed, that's all he felt comfortable with. He had taken up residence in a decrepit house that now belonged to the Scotland Yard after a violent encounter with drug pedlars three years ago and was in a state of near ruin.

It made Harry practically feel at home.

The house had two floors, both small and cramped with two rooms. A narrow ladder was squeezed in behind the front door and the two rooms downstairs were once an entertainment room and a kitchen, judging by the mess of appliances all over the dust coated floor. The floor above had two rooms opposite each other with a small platform between them where the ladder peeked and were connected by a common bathroom for all.

Dozens of mattresses, dried up used condoms, bed sheets torn up by insects and nearly half a dozen overflowing ashtrays lay still in both rooms. The walls were covered with graffiti, some good but most pathetic and sprayed with unsteady hands. Clearly there was a massive gap between talent and those who once lived in the house.

There were no ceiling fans and a few table fans were trapped between the mattresses. But it was pointless since electricity to the house had been cut off for years.

When Harry found the place, the first thing he did was empty one of the rooms upstairs by dumping all the junk into the other but he kept one mattress and the makeup table, which had a long mirror and drawers filled with lipstick bottles, underwear and other womanly items he wasn't familiar with. He left them as they were but made an effort to clean the room with the broomstick he had found downstairs.

It took him a while to clear the room but he liked doing the work. It took his mind off other things that involved annoying adults and cleaning strangely kept his mind calm.

Once he was done he carefully removed his new wand from his bag, holding it gingerly and keeping a strong hold on the magic that began to react violently at the proximity of wand to skin.

Harry took a deep breath, channeled the tiniest bit of magic into the wand and muttered, "_Scourfigy_," removing the mattress of all things unhygienic so that he wouldn't have to worry about bedbugs and other mysterious insects when he slept.

As soon as the spell was cast, he threw the wand on the mirror table, not wanting to touch it again.

He had learnt first hand how badly the runes inside his body reacted when he touched a wand. He had discovered One aspect of the runes was to reject magic to keep him safe from harmful spells. While this was generally a good thing in a fight, it also protested against the property of a wand that forcefully pulled magic. His runes perceived the wand as a threat and the first time he held a wand it had blown up violently, taking a few fingers out in the explosion and severely fracturing the bones in his arm. After that incident Hugo had decided to introduce him to his brand of magic and that skill was invaluable in controlling the way his magic followed when affected by the runes. Now he could touch a wand without the fear of losing fingers.

Harry shuddered at the squeamish feeling that rose in him every time he recalled that horrible day in New Delhi. Pain followed by screaming followed by shock followed by emergency surgery followed my magical reattachment and then recovery.

"Stop thinking about it," he said to himself sternly and then lit some candles to brighten the room.

The sun was dipping into the horizon and gradually the light of the candles overcame the light of the sun and night was soon upon him. He looked into the mirror and stared at his current form.

It was Harry Potter staring back at him. But taller and older than he was supposed to be. Croaker had told him to stay eleven years old but when Harry was alone, he almost instinctively changed into a passable sixteen year old. He wasn't comfortable being in any form older than that or else he would have changed into something older. His form was a reflection of how old he felt.

He sighed and let go of all changes, letting his body shorten and become thinner until he was a scrawny five foot little boy that Croaker wanted him to be for his meeting with Dumbledore. He mentally grimaced in distaste at the weakling staring at him and quickly become taller and stronger again.

_That's better._

Harry had come to the rundown house two months ago. At first, as is standard departmental procedure, he was given the best room in the hotel Ritz. The same hotel he had visited all those years ago and gawked at the expensive place like an idiot. What a ruse it had been, he thought chuckling. Lure him in with wonder, give him a choice and pretend like he actually had a choice and then take him to the worst places in the world in the name of justice and protection of the common good.

It had been four months since he had left the Cauldron and first two were spent with Croaker and Hugo as they went over all that had been done and all that still remained to be done and further intensive training to hone his budding skills with magic.

_Good job Hugo, Croaker said in his emotionless voice. "I am amazed at the man you have become Harry. It is simply astounding what you have accomplished."_

Harry laughed at his reflection. Was that what he was? A man?

_"Do you know what this department does Harry?" Croaker asked gently._

_"We spy," Harry replied. "We dig for information all the time and once in a while we find something that could harm this country."_

_Croaker smiled. "We do this because no one ever knows when someone might plan an attack. There are more than a billion people on this planet. One percent of that billion is magical and this one percent is spread all over the world in tiny pockets of secrecy. Within this one percent are elements that are greedy, violent and dangerous to innocent people."_

_"Many years ago Minister Leach, the first muggleborn minister, lamented the fact that magical Britain had absolutely no form of intelligence network to stop the multitude of attacks it was faced with all the time. The then head of the department of mysteries took the complain to heart and secretly formed the DOI. When he told minister Leach about it, the minister made him swear never let the existence of the department come out and he also made him swear that it would be an organisation for collecting intelligence and nothing more. No assassinations and no taking the law into their own hands."_

_Croaker leaned forward and looked into Harry's fascinated eyes. "You are the first person we have ever recruited so young and I'm sure you've regretted agreeing to join us in many times in the past eight years. I'm sure you've seen horrors beyond imagination and felt disgust of the worst kind on many occasions. But thanks to all the information gathered by you and Hugo we have informed the DMLE about eighteen drug rackets and no less than six plots that threatened to harm innocent citizens and the ministry itself. You are a hero Harry and I hope you never think any different."_

Harry slipped out of his robes and carefully folded them before slipping them into his bag. He removed dark grey trousers and a light blue T shirt from the bag and slowly slipped them on.

_You're a hero Harry._ Words that made Harry roll his eyes in amusement. Did they honestly think he was that stupid? He knew they were afraid of losing him. He knew Hugo's report had horrified Croaker and made him regret ever handing over an infant to the hardened agent but the results of the report were just too attractive.

Harry had in return asked just one question. "_You are paying me right? Since the time I met you to this day, including the time spent using the time turner... I've been paid in gold right?"_

Croaker had been momentarily stunned and then he had given Harry a key.

Harry tucked his shirt in neatly, buttoned the shirt all the way to the topmost button and pondered over where to eat. McDonalds or Burger King?

Deciding to make up his mind on the way, Harry left the house and made sure no one saw him leaving the sealed off building. He ducked under the yellow strip that cordoned off the area and quickly hurried towards the main road.

The street lights were powered on and there were dozens of cars lined up outside all the houses that looked like they would fall to pieces at any second. There were some kids smoking round the corner and Harry was tempted to light up his own joint. But he decided against it. After eating sounded better. Smoking right before eating never agreed with him.

_We swear no oaths and we do not bind you to the department, Croaker had told him. We do the things we do because we care, he had said._

Brilliant tactics, thought Harry. If he backed away and abandoned the department then he would feel like a villain. But that poisonous thought never arose in him. Even though his life had been quite crap, he liked it. He enjoyed doing the things he did and the rush of the experience was unlike anything a boring normal life could give him. He could never have a normal life, not with a prophecy hanging over his head and powerful people, all dying to get a piece of him.

Hugo had laid out his options very early on when they were in the States. _Know you are being used and bend it to your liking or blindly follow a voice and end up hating your life. Those are the two paths that lie in front of you._ Five year old Harry had chosen the former and ended up liking the life of an agent for the DOI. Even the worst situation would not change that.

A grin lit up his face and banished all the dark thoughts when he saw the McDonald clown pleasantly smiling down at him.

_Fried food here I come!_

_-x-x-x-_

_**Author's note: Do tell me how you felt about the scenes. Its really helpful to hear your opinions. **_

_**Hope you enjoyed this.**_


	7. Mission ICW part one

**MISSION ICW Part One  
**

**2nd AUGUST 1991**

_The Boy Who Lived; Ministry Puppet?!_

**4th AUGUST 1991**

_Hero in the making! The Boy Who Lived returns!_

**15th AUGUST 1991**

_Eleven year old Auror?_

**1st SEPTEMBER 1991**

_Protector of the realm embraces duty!_

**1st JANUARY 1992**

_Minister and Boy Who Lived inaugurate the Potter ward!_

**5th JUNE 1992**

_Boy Who Lived announces decision to take OWLS!_

**10th JULY 1992**

_Youngest wizard to apply for OWLS. Date of reckoning: 15th February 1993!_

Harry felt a bubble of mirth burst every time he read a headline of newspapers popular in the magical world of the United Kingdom.

His favourite was the Quibbler which accused him of being in league with a secret society of Bubblegum men who were plotting to take over the ministry of magic in defiance of the members of the Rotfang Conspiracy. It further went on to illustrate some very interesting plots which went unread after Harry tossed the paper into a waste bin. To be fair, he did that with most papers that talked more fiction than fact.

As per his morning ritual, Harry was standing in front of his mirror; which he had christened Marbles, and was adjusting the size of his body to that of a healthy twelve year old.

"What do you think Marbles?" he asked the mirror. "Good enough?"

Marbles had been enchanted to talk after Harry learnt how to enchant objects a month back. It had been hard work, learning the sequence of spells and calculating the amount of magic that was required to make the spell work, but in the end it was worth it. His command over the use of a wand was improving day by day and he had overcome his wariness of using a wand.

"You're as handsome as ever," said Marbles. Harry had given it the voice of a woman. Having a male mirror look at him in his birthday suit didn't appeal to him one bit. "But your voice is still cracking and the hair on your legs is too dark," she added helpfully.

"Right," Harry muttered and concentrated on the necessary changes. "What about now?"

Marbles giggled. "You're such a cute twelve year old. If I wasn't a mirror," she said wistfully.

"I enchanted you to talk, not behave like a pedophile," Harry said mildly.

"I resent that insinuation!" Marbles squeaked. "I would hug you till you suffocate, that's all!"

"Ooh, so you'd rather kill me. Way to go Marbles. I'm pretty sure I must have messed up the spell."

"Oh hush you. The sun is coming up soon, maybe you should put some clothes on and leave before the neighbours see you."

Still standing in front of the mirror, Harry summoned his pants, shirt and robes and put them on slowly. It was a strange habit he had developed when he was in Iran. The people there were very careful about everything and handled even the most solid and unbreakable objects with such gentleness that it defied the popular belief of the other countries that they were all violent beings.

Marbles sighed. "Putting on a show for me every morning. I live for this time of the day!"

Harry chuckled. "It's the least I can do for my least annoying companion."

Marbles gasped. "I'm the _least_ annoying?!" Marbles was outraged.

"See you later." Harry grabbed his wand, holding it loosely between his middle and forefinger and twirled on his foot to apparate out of the house.

He had to duck and roll the next moment, as a red beam of light flew over him and splashed harmlessly on the opposite wall.

"Remind me to lock you out of the wards again," grumbled Glen Savage. Harry's alleged guardian and the man under whose roof he was supposed to be staying. Savage was a man of average height, an unsymmetrical face with a harsh jaw line,blue eyes and sandy hair cropped neatly around the ears. He was wearing red robes, signifying his role as an Auror and was half asleep on the couch of his single bedroom house in Diagon Alley.

Publicly, Harry was living with Mr. and Mrs. Savage near Godric's Hollow, close to the house Harry was born in but in reality, Glen Savage was divorced, his wife obliviated and now living in a low rent apartment above Eeylops Owl Emporium. The little flat was always smelling of bird at any given time of the day.

Harry felt a little sorry for the man half asleep on the couch but then remembered the circumstances behind the divorce. Glen Savage loved being single and he loved the sty he lived in even more.

"I see you slept in your uniform again," Harry commented.

"It's bloody annoying to have to train you so early in the morning," Savage complained ignoring the comment. "Why couldn't you just have gone to Hogwarts instead of making me your bloody trainer!"

Harry grinned. Amongst other things, Savage was known for his skill with a wand and shockingly good teaching abilities. He wasn't a member of the DOI and had no idea of its existence. He just did what he was told to do by Deputy Chief, Alan Shaw. The only information he was privy to and sworn to secrecy as well was Harry's status as a metamorphmagus and a fake cover story of Harry's life.

Most people would question why such a story was needed but Glen Savage was the sort of man who only cared about churning out brilliant Aurors from the training academy and catching wizards who had a habit of ending up on the wrong side of the law.

Few things shocked him and the ability of Harry Potter to grasp the concepts of advanced magic was one of them.

Savage got up from his awkward position on the couch and stretched his body lazily. "Bloody hell Potter," he grumbled. "It's not even bright outside."

Harry checked his watch. "Another hour to sunrise and three hours before the ministry starts functioning," he said. "They can't see what kind of training we do, you know that, and today is an important gathering of the Wizengamot. Minister Fudge has been kind enough to get permission for me to sit and watch so let's go Mr. Savage."

"It's Glen. How many times have I told you that?"

"Thirty seven as of today," Harry replied.

Harry's face was blank and Savage found it hard to tell if the boy was joking or being serious. He was extraordinarily mature for a twelve-year-old and sometimes the way he spoke was just creepy.

"Alright, alright," he muttered. "Hang on a minute while I get my boots." He quickly put on the dragon hide boots, mumbled a freshening charm under his breath that straightened out his clothes, whitened his teeth and made him look and feel like he had just taken a bath. "Let's go then," he said before grabbing Harry's arm tightly and apparating them to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Having an underage wizard apparate into the ministry was just asking for trouble and enquiries.

At quarter past seven, the ministry was entirely empty. A stark difference from its usual look which was always teeming with wizards, witches and flying paper planes.

Their footsteps echoed in the large hall as they passed by the fountain and walked towards the gate keeper of the elevators. His job was to keep an eye on things after the ministry was shut but as usual, his head was stuck to the table with drool making a pool beside his mouth.

Savage prodded him with his wand, rousing him out of his sleep with a jerk.

"Wassit? Whaddyawant?" he mumbled.

"Open the elevator Tom," Savage growled.

Tom suddenly snapped awake upon seeing the usual morning arrivals. "Auror Savage and Trainee Potter," he mumbled, scribbling on a parchment quickly. " Auror Savage; ten inches, yew with a core of a male unicorn and Trainee Potter; eleven and a half inches, holly with a core of Phoenix feather. Good morning sirs and here you go." He rattled his words at lightening speeds, knowing them by heart after almost a year of repeating them and touched his wand to the elevator activating it.

They arrived at level two; the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and made their way to the training room at the far end of the department. Rows and columns of red painted cubicles in a light blue gigantic hall populated the entrance to level two as soon as you stepped out of the elevator. Here the Junior Aurors sat and worked. Their jobs involved saving cats from trees, settling domestic disputes, breaking up bar fights, sending out warnings for the improper use of magic by underage witches and wizards and the general problems that made an Auror bemoan his job. But that was the job every Auror had to do before he or she was good enough to climb up the food chain.

Further into level six, the huge brightly lit hall narrowed into a single corridor and the cubicles were replaced by tiny offices separated by thin walls and this was where the Senior Aurors worked. There were two columns on either side of the wide and white corridor. The offices were small, had wall length glass windows through which you could see piles of files lying in the corners of the office and more piles on their desks and the name of the senior Aurors was etched into the wooden door. One the messier and smallest office had Misuse of Muggle Artefacts printed on it with the name Arthur Weasley below it. Some offices were neatly maintained and some even had windows through which different scenes of climate could be seen. It was a bit bizarre. Through one pouring rain was seen, through another a field of roses, mountain tops in another window and the variety of weather phenomenons was plenty. The Senior Aurors handled cases of murder, robbery, kidnappings and catered to the whims of the councillors of the Wizengamot.

The final section of the level had a much more elegant look and feel. The plain cement floor now had a lush blue carpet covering it and the walls were adorned with still portraits of famous Aurors who had served the department over the years. Victorian era doors were fixed on either side with large gaps between them signifying the size of the offices inside. There were less than fifty such offices in this section and the Head Aurors or Hit Wizards as they were popularly known, were the ones who worked here. Their jobs were the most dangerous and involved taking down dangerous dark wizards, ensuring the law was upheld in unsavoury localities like Knockturn Alley and tracking illegal trade and smuggling of dark artefacts that posed a potential risk to muggles and wizards alike. It was the Head Aurors who got anonymous tips from the non existent Department of Intelligence. They were also incharge of handling a squad of Junior and Senior Aurors and had the option of picking their own squad if they chose to do so.

Glen Savage was a Head Auror whose primary duty was the training of junior and trainee Aurors. He reported to Alan Shaw, the Deputy Chief of the Department and Amelia Bones was the Chief of the entire department.

Finally they reached the end of the corridor where a single black door was fixed and opened up to the training room. This was a large circular room with a high oval roof and was entirely white in colour. From the tiles to the walls to the ceiling, it was all white and bright.

"Give me ten rounds!" barked Savage, his voice suddenly turning hard and stern. Harry peeled of his robes and began the start of his daily training. Ten rounds around the huge room was followed by dodging stinging hexes which was followed by a conjured obstacle course that involved rope climbing, pit jumping and a lot of crawling. Finally after an hour of such exercises and five minute of rest thereafter, his warm up was over and panting heavily, he took his aching body with wand in hand to stand in front of Savage.

Wand magic was something Harry struggled with. And given his status as the Boy Who Lived and Auror in training, it was something he had to master or else the hundreds of activists and Dumbledore who were clamouring for him to be placed with another family and sent to Hogwarts would be proven right.

Harry didn't know whether to appreciate their efforts to see him grow up like any other child or to laugh at them for thinking they were right and everyone else was wrong. It was a conundrum he had to deal with almost every other day. Who was right; who was wrong; who to believe and who to trust. The answers to his problems lay deep in philosophy and he wondered if it was the right time to discuss his questions with Sheik Akram. The man was quite well versed in the study of philosophy alongside being a cut throat smuggler and murder.

"Focus on the wand movements Harry!" Savage shouted. "You have to move faster!"

Harry ducked before the stunning spell was cast and began his own movements to stun the Auror. But as usual, Savage was way too quick and his wand was ripped out of his hands for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes.

"Your wand movements are too quick for me to follow!" Harry panted. Sweat had become a part of his clothes and his hair clung to his skin like a rubber cap.

"The first two wand movements are key," Savage said, throwing him his wand back. "You can't dodge once the spell is cast. A spell is light with magical properties. Can you dodge a beam of light?" he asked sarcastically.

Harry shook his head. Of course not. No one could dodge light.

"And that is why, in a duel, you must recognise the wand moments before the spell is cast so that you can decide whether you want to counter or dodge. If you know what's coming at you, then you'll always have the upper hand," Savage lectured. "Now up. Again!"

They stood ten feet apart and bowed.

Immediately Savage's hand started moving.

_Circle and stab; stunner - dodge_.

Harry dodged and began the moments to cast the disarming hex but Savage broke off and immediately changed the spell he was casting.

_Sweep and flick; bludgeoner - shield!_

"Protego!" Harry yelled blocking the blue curse with a blue shield. The force of the curse shattered his shield and knocked him over and he rolled over to his left as quick as possible when he saw the movements of the stunner again. A red light smashed into the spot where he stood and as soon as he stood up, he had to bring up another shield and another bludgeoner smashed into him.

Stunner and bludgeoners were two spells all Aurors favoured and the two spells that were most effective in a duel. They were easy to cast and the power could be controlled to either put down or cause bodily harm.

This time he held ground and as quick as possible let loose a stunner which was lazily blocked by Savage. He hadn't even broken out in a sweat yet.

"Giving up already?" he said mockingly as they circled each other with predatory instincts.

He spread out his arms and Harry instantly knew what was coming. When both the arms spread out they usually clapped back together to release something very destructive. Harry knew what was going to happen. The wand would be clenched by both hands, massive amounts of magic would be spit out of the tiny end of the wand and the ground was going to explode.

The disadvantage to such a curse was it left the caster wide open and Harry took advantage of the opening and moved his hands quicker. His elbow bent and then he thrust, "Depulso!" He shouted, sending a powerful gust of wind at the exposed torso and then the floor, as predicted, exploded in his face. Dust and concrete flew into him and knocked him back again and he felt his wand ripped out of his hand yet again.

"That was pathetic," Savage commented, vanishing the dust as the floor repaired itself. I sidestepped your curse as soon as I saw your draw your hand back. If you had been faster, you could have got me, but as usual, you took your time."

He held out his hand and pulled the groaning Harry to his feet. "You know it's difficult for me to mould magic. I have to be careful not to release too much magic or else my wand will explode."

Savage knew about Harry's problems with a wand but not the cause, just the effect. The runes engraved on his bones were top secret and only four people knew about them: Croaker, Hugo, Chekov; who was now retired, and Sanders, who was sworn to secrecy over all the others oaths that she had taken after joining the Department of Mysteries.

Savage laughed. "Be sure to mention that to your opponents!"

Harry grimaced and for the umpteenth time, he was glad that the room had several enchantments on it that drastically reduced the damage a curse could cause to the body. If they had been in an unprotected room, he was sure he would be in St. Mungos, being treated for shrapnel wounds immediately. But instead he just felt the wind knocked out of him and a dull ache in his bones.

"Come on. Let's go again and this time you can use that ridiculous Amazonian magic."

Harry scowled. I'm a spy, he thought feeling annoyed. He didn't have much use for destructive magic. He needed and used only sneaky magic. But he had to go through the training too protect his cover.

After another hour of being knocked on his arse and constantly being ridiculed, Savage finally stopped the assault and healed the superficial wounds he had gathered on his body during the duels.

"You did well today," he said smiling. "You were able to recognise most of the wand movements and counter accordingly but you're still too slow. You need to practice moving your wrists and arms faster if you really desire to be as good as you hope to be."

It was nine in the morning by the time they were done and Harry had an hour after to freshen up again, make a short trip to the Leaky Cauldron for a good, heavy breakfast and be back for the start of his classes. Officially, Harry's tutoring started at ten in the morning and was taught the subjects he was to take for his OWLS. Potions, Defence against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration - something that Harry struggled with but was coping well, Arithmancy - a subject that was essential in understanding how wand movements affected a spell through the use of numbers, Charms and History of Magic.

All the subjects except for History of Magic were taught to him by Savage and Harry had found the course work incredibly easy. He was surprised that it took Hogwarts students four years to reach such a level and his opinion of magical education dropped with every year of syllabus that he covered. Once the basics were understood, every thing that came next was a piece of cake. His struggles with spell casting had more to do with his runes rather than his skill but for his age, he was far ahead than most and he knew he was going to breeze through his OWLS.

History of Magic, he read on his own time. All that needed to be learnt was there in the books by Bathilda Bagshot. There was no need for a teacher unless you didn't take the effort to read the books.

His magical education took place between ten and one, after which Harry would either go the the DOI to meet with the new Head of Operations; Hugo himself or he would meet with the Minister for Magic and other bigwigs of the ministry who wanted Harry to take their named publicly to further their political careers.

Harry had a tough time keeping a fake smile plastered on his face while fifty-year-old men and women spoke to him - technically almost a twelve-year-old subtracting the time spent with the time turner - about favours and in their words, putting a good name in with Fudge.

Fudge on the other hand made a great show of taking him to press conferences and putting him on a pedestal while he basked in the glory of leading magical Britain with kind and firm hands. Harry had to resist the urge to puke every time he was brought in for one of these conferences.

But he did it all with a professionalism and skill that would have been beyond him if it weren't for Hugo's training. He was patient, he did all his tasks without failure and after three in the afternoon, he would spy in the shadows, unseen, on all the men and women that the DOI suspected of having links with unsavoury characters of the underworld.

There were two more months to go, until his primary mission would be activated. Replace Minister Fudge in the major ICW conference that was to take place in Switzerland. That was the main and only reason why Harry was in the ministry, why he was faking his dream of becoming an Auror. Why he was tailing Fudge, observing his every move, his mannerisms, his ideology and agendas as the Minister for Magic. As a metamorphmagus, Harry had the unique skills to replace Minister Fudge and no one would be the wiser unless Harry screwed up.

The Grandmaster for Magic in America had called for a meeting last year and the DOI had information from Stacey that it involved something big. The Americans had found something and it was important enough to call for a meeting of all the world leaders. The DOI could not afford to let Fudge to go for this meeting if the need to take tough decisions arose and Stacey's words were ominous enough for Croaker to give Harry such a high profile mission. The simple fact was no one but a metamorphmagus could fool detection wards and Harry was the only one they had. there was another but she was not a member of the DOI nor did she have the temperament to be considered for recruitment.

Two more months till the commencement of Harry's first mission.

Today however, thanks to Fudge and Lucius Malfoy, Harry was given special permission to sit in as a spectator in the Wizengamot courtroom to observe the councillors make decisions that affected magical Britain. The DOI, mainly Croaker, wanted him to see how the lawmakers functioned and it took a lot of sweet talking to have Malfoy and Fudge agree to his request.

Harry sat in a corner of the dark courtroom and yawned no less than thirty times in the four hour meeting. Two words seemed to stick out during the whole session: muggles and outrageous.

Any law which promoted progress was met with synchronised screams of outrageous, preposterous and a whole list of words that were just painful to hear. Suffice to say, after an hour, Harry knew exactly why Croaker wanted him to sit in. All the councillors were pure bloods. The seats of the Wizengamot were permanent and inherited by blood and it was the Wizengamot which elected the Minister for Magic. Which meant that if the Minster did anything to piss off the influential pure bloods, his chances for re-election were shot to the moon.

Harry observed five men in particular who had constant contact with Fudge and the same five held seats on the Wizengamot Council as well. Malfoy, Burke, Yaxley, McNair and Parkinson. All five were acquitted after Voldemort fell, claiming to be under the imperius curse and Harry was made aware of the substantial amount of gold that exchanged hands but mysterious ended up in the DOI coffers.

Chief Warlock Dumbledore was a serene figure at the head of the high table and he spent half his time banging the hammer on the table trying to get order in the court but it was futile. Muggle lovers and Muggle haters were equally balanced and balance was something that never solved any problems. Harry had learnt that lesson in Detroit. Anything that was in balance was fated to keep clashing until the balance was broken. It was inevitable.

"I now call this session to an end!" Dumbledore's voice thundered through the courtroom. "The Wizengamot shall reconvene on the 15th day of September."

_After the ICW conference,_ Harry noted.

He was about to slip out before the crowd of wrinkled skins could leave but he was caught by Dumbledore. "Mr. Potter," he said warmly. "Do you mind if we had a chat?"

Harry blinked and in the time it took to blink, he wondered if it was a good idea to talk with Dumbledore alone. "Of course Chief Warlock. Do you have a place were we could?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Call me Headmaster or Professor, Mr. Potter. My other titles sound too grandiose," he said and led Harry to the back side of the high table where there was another room with the words Chief Warlock engraved in it.

"The perks of being the Chief Warlock are plenty however," he added.

Harry looked around the room in interest. It was not very big but it was very comfortable. A book shelf covered one side of the wall and the other was cramped with a round mahogany table and cushioned armchairs. The ceiling was a little low and the walls were painted pale green giving the room a very pleasant feel.

"Please sit," Dumbledore said to Harry, pointing to one of the armchairs.

Harry almost groaned at the amazing feeling of sinking into cushions that seemed to have magical properties of massaging just the right spots. "Oh god this is amazing." He just had to voice his thoughts.

"If not Hogwarts, I spend time in this room. It has quite the marvellous collection of muggle fiction if you care to see. Enid Blyton is one of my favourite writers."

"You said you wanted to talk to me."

Dumbledore smiled, an unreadable expression in his eyes and after a moment he removed a package from his robes.

"I might not be seeing you on your birthday so I thought I'd drop by your gift before that."

Harry eyes widened a fraction.

"What is it?"

"Something that belonged to your father. He had left it in my possession and now I am returning it to its rightful owner."

Harry slid the package, wrapped in glittering red wrapper, towards his and placed it on his lap, deciding to open it later. "Thank you Chie- I mean Headmaster. This means a lot to me."

"I spoke with Vernon and Petunia and found out how badly you had been mistreated," he said, his voice turning somber and sad. "I wanted you to know, that if I had known how bad things were, I would have removed you from their house immediately. So I simply wish to apologise and voice my regrets which haunts me every night."

Harry was silent and Dumbledore felt the need to explain some more.

"You were famous hours after the tragedy struck your home. Your name was spreading all over the country like wild fire and within a day no less than ten pure blood families applied to the ministry for your custody. Had I not take the steps that I took, a supporter of Voldemort could have gotten his hands on you or a family that would have lifted you to a pedestal inflating your head with delusions of grandeur about a tragedy that you wouldn't even remember,"

"Like what Minister Fudge is doing at the moment," he added.

"You're right Headmaster," Harry said softly. "Every word of every sentence rang true and no doubt you acted in my best interests since you knew about the prophecy that was hanging over my head."

"Harry-"

Harry raised his hand to forestall Dumbledore. "I don't blame you. Like I said you did the right thing. Just the other day, Mr. Malfoy was educating me about the follies of mixing pure and muggle-blood. He wasn't talking about power or lack of it. He was talking about the death of traditions; of old festivals. He spoke of the wonderful culture of Magical Britain that was slowly being eroded because of the blindness of Muggle-borns, who forcefully impose the culture of the Muggle World instead of understanding the culture of the world they were now a part of."

It was Dumbledore's turn to listen quietly.

"A month back, Richard Burke, the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was lamenting the stand of the Ministry on certain types of magic if you catch my drift. He spoke about the nature of magic and the intent behind all magic. He also mentioned something about there being no good or evil. It's just those in power who define the meanings and meanings can change depending on who is in power."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say  
Mr. Dumbledore, is that, everybody is right. You are right, Malfoy is right, even Fudge is right, not to mention the hundreds of wizards who have a belief about something, who too, are right. I ask myself so who is wrong? How can I tell if the person is being honest or just talking about the right thing for his own agenda?"

"In the end all that matters is the side I chose and everyone wants me to be on their side for some ridiculously right reason or another. You want to save the world. It's in your nature to be a hero and you want me to help you or you want to use me to save the world from something that you believe is evil.

"Harry-"

"Lucius Malfoy wants me to be on his side to protect the world that he loves and prevent change from taking a hold of it. He wants to use me to keep his world stagnated. It's a common problem with muggles too just so you know."

"Minister Fudge is the simplest man of his kind. He just wants me on his side to show the public they are in safe hands and the ministry keeps them as the top priority. Which is true if you remove the bureaucrats and leave behind all the hard working people that actually run the Ministry. He wants to use me to stay in power."

"And what about Croaker," Dumbledore interjected softly. "What does he intend to use you for?"

Harry smiled knowingly. Of course Dumbledore would want to know that and ignore everything else. He had been using all his resources to find that out but to no avail.

"That is between Croaker and me," Harry said. "But back to the matter to matter hand. Who do you think should be allowed to use me?"

"You are your own person Harry. It's your choice. No one can choose for you."

Harry had a triumphant smile on his face. "And yet you work in the shadows, doing your best to dislodge me from the ministry because you don't want me to choose them. You want me to choose you and therein lies the conflict between you and me."

Neither spoke for a while.

"Grand Sorcerer," Dumbledore said suddenly, startling Harry.

"What?"

"It's one of my titles. It's obsolete now but I still have it nonetheless. Do you know what it means?"

Harry shook his head.

"If the need arises, I may use my power, my judgement, to see the world through periods of darkness regardless of cost. It's a title I earned after defeated Grindelwald and saving England from his coming assault and was bestowed upon me by the Queen of England."

Harry was quiet. He didn't know what the Headmaster was trying to say.

"I do what I do only when I see no other way and I can tell you with extreme confidence that my sight is far sharper than any other in our world. It is why people trust me and it is also why people distrust me. No one wants to be told what to do if they cannot envision it."

"And as you said earlier I have a choice. I choose not to be blindly follow Mr. Dumbledore."

_I live in darkness and decay after all._

"Have a good day Mr. Dumbledore. I hope I didn't offend you and thank you again for the gifts," he said and stood up.

Before Harry could leave Dumbledore spoke. "What I do, I do for the greater good Harry. You do not know how the forces of evil think and operate and as Albus too many titles Dumbledore, it is my duty to ensure the darkness stays at bay."

"It's your greater good Mr. Dumbledore. Not everybody's." And then Harry left.

Dumbledore joined the tip of his fingers and rested his chin on top. The boy was sharp and clever and for some reason his scar wasn't as vivid as it was when he was a child. Had the magic dissipated? Had the curse been removed by the DOI?

That however was a matter for another time. What he was concerned with was the way the boy held himself. The way he spoke, it was like he was looking at the world and all it's problems with a detached eye. No emotional connection and no ties to anything or anyone.

Who behaved like that? Who did he know personally that saw the world in such a fashion?

His eyes widened when the answer came to him. _Severus Snape; Spy for the Order of the Phoenix._

It couldn't be! Surely it wasn't possible! The dots were there to be connected. The clues were all around. But was it really possible?!

He closed his eyes and took deep calming breaths through his nose. _Don't jump to conclusions Albus. Connect the dots, gather all evidence and them make a conclusion._

But he knew his guesses were never wrong. There was definitely more to the Department of Mysteries than what was hidden behind their shroud of secrecy. If what he guessed was right, than Harry Potter was a valuable addition to their ranks and they would not part with him without a fight.

Dumbledore stood up abruptly. He needed the council of Nicolas Flamel.

* * *

**20yth JULY 1992**

It was night and Harry was prowling through the streets of Knockturn Alley, his hood up and wand out.

It was his night job. Tracking and finding the friends he had left in the Devil's Cauldron. He knew Jeremy would return to London, he was the only one from the isles. Gale would try and find his way to France and it would be a while before Harry could track him. Gia on the other hand would have returned to England as well. Her aunts ran an illegal trade of Ashwinder eggs. Natasha would have tried to return to Russia but Harry worried that she wouldn't make it. She was too short tempered, held a grudge longer than anyone he had ever met and was prone to spontaneously get into fight with men who so much as looked at her wrong. Harry was worried she'd be dead before she even made it half way home. Natasha, however, was his lowest priority. She had no use to him as an agent but there was something about her that made him worry.

The cold breeze picked up speed and Harry tightened his cloak around him. It was always cold in Knockturn Alley. The path was too narrow and the buildings were too crooked and menacingly bent over the path, like they were glaring at those on the street. None of them rose any higher than three stories unlike Diagon Alley which went up to five and some of them almost ten stories high and all of them were painted with vibrant colours of different varieties unlike the ones in Knockturn which were all a dull grey.

Jeremy's dad worked for McNair; a man who was a member of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures and was a volunteer executioner despite his high ranking in the Ministry. Harry thought the man's desire to kill was positively cute. He had no real power but had the bloodlust to rival even the bloodthirsty criminals of level 40 in the Devil's Cauldron.

A movement to his left alerted him and he let loose a banishing curse at the attacker on instinct. Savage was a hard task master and after months and months he was able to staying standing for ten minutes with the duelling champion.

His attacker was a hag and she fell back with a squeal when her attack failed. Her yellow eyes, nest like hair, disgustingly long and dirty finger nails that poked out from her robes and crooked nose were too much of a stereotype and Harry gagged at the putrid smell coming of her body.

Before she would draw her wand, Harry stepped on her arm and pressed hard.

She started to howl and scream but went absolutely still when Harry bent down and placed his wand between her eyes.

He lowered his hood and let the nasty personality of Tyson Storm take over.

Black eyes bored into sickly yellow eyes that were terrified and defiant. "Come on boy," the hag cackled insanely. "Let me have you. You're innards will fetch me a pretty pretty price."

Tyson dug his wand harder on her forehead. "If you value your life keep that disgusting mouth shut and answer my questions or else it will be your innards strangling you to death," he hissed dangerously.

The hag wisely kept shut. She knew how to differentiate the dangerous from the pansies and this boy was definitely dangerous.

"I picked the wrong one," she bemoaned before Harry could ask his question. "Oh the time will be missed yet again!" She laughed, a mad laugh, revealing a row of crooked sharpened teeth.

"_Noceo_!"

The hag screamed as pain erupted in her head.

Above Harry, windows slammed shut and lights burned out as the hags voice echoed in the dark and dingy alley.

"Where can I find the Modred sisters," he growled, releasing the spell.

"Oh Lord Dionysus! Smite this monster who holds me down!"

"_Noceo_!" Tyson spat once more, pouring more power into his wand.

Her screams grew louder and sharper and Harry had to step away from her trashing body to avoid bodily harm. He deftly kicked her wand away before she could pounce on it and let the tip of his wand glow green to remind her of the danger she was in.

It was an effective move. As soon as the woman saw the green tip she stopped squirming and real fear clouded her eyes.

"Now, the Modred sisters. Where can I find them?"

The Modred sisters were the only dealers of Ashwinder eggs in the alley and they were his link to Gia and possibly Jeremy as well. It had taken him months to find out the names of the Ashwinder egg dealers but he finally did and now he needed a direction.

"T-the Dark Unicorn your lordship," the hag wheezed. It's two lefts and a right that a way!"

She pointed behind him and when Harry looked behind and turned back, she was gone. Disappeared into the shadows like all of her kind.

_Miserable old woman_, thought Tyson scornfully but went in the direction she pointed out anyway.

Two lefts and a right later, Harry was standing in front a door which had a broken sign board hanging beside it. It didn't have a name but there was picture of a black unicorn on it. Harry looked left and then who looked right. The street was empty baring the bits of paper that rustled with the wind. He pulled up his hood, shadowing his face once more and knocked hard on the black door.

Ten seconds later the door cracked open and a head peaked through. "Waddyawant?" Asked the bald headed head with grey eyes and a thick moustache.

"A weary traveller finds refuge in the strangest of places my friend," Tyson said smoothly. The words were code and they changed every week. It was the shop owners who got together and made up the code and to get the code, you needed to know someone who was told the code. In other words it was a tight circle to ensure that no Aurors or unwanted wizard got wind of their secrets and it worked every well.

Harry had stalked almost a dozen wizards and witches before one of them slipped up and mentioned the weeks code out loud. But getting the code was not the hard part. Finding the names of Gia's aunts on the other hand tested his patience until he had finally got some information out of a drunk named Mundungus Fletcher. The Modred sisters. Gia Modred. The name suited her and he couldn't wait to find her since it was Jeremy whom he was really interested in. McNair was an overly cautious man and Harry had no way of finding out which one of his goons was Jeremy's dad.

The door opened and Harry entered, a little curious as to what lay behind the door. What he saw instead was not like anything he had pictured.

Elegant, was the first word that came to mind. Elegant and classy. It was the only way to describe it.

The lighting was low. Purple coloured long and thick scented candles floated at mid height casting enough light to see but not enough to read. A burgundy Persian carpet hugged the floor and as soon as Harry took a step inside there was a whoosh and his clothes and boots were cleaned throughly. Short round tables that were carved out of oak were placed all over and instead of chairs there were fluffy and large cushions all around. A gramophone was floating at the top and soothing classical music cascaded from the ancient artefact and along with the sound of music there were also the appropriate signs for treble and bass that floated amidst the candles, in black.

Within this misty and eerie atmosphere were people. Men and women dressed in expensive and colourful robes, sitting on the cushions, talking in low yet merry voices. A cloud of smoke rose above every table since almost everyone was smoking from pipes of unique shapes and sizes. Some where long and some were short but all had the same ingredient.

_Crushed Ashwinder eggs coated with opium._

It gave the users a feeling of controlled euphoria, a feeling of floating in zero gravity with the mind alert enough to converse and exchange ideas. The ashwinder eggs prevented the common problems of withdrawal and addiction that came with opium that was smoked without the eggs.

Almost all the customers were pure bloods, Harry realised and they were being served by hands in white gloves, floating around noiselessly, carrying trays with drink and delicacies. The gloved gliding hands were also refilled the pipes before they could stop burning.

Harry drank in the entirety of this hidden jewel of the magical world and took a step inside but was immediately stopped by two hands, one showing him a palm, signalling him to stop and the other holding a pouch.

Harry frowned not understanding but then the hand pointed to the bag, spread out its fingers showing five and then made a fist and showing him the sign of five four times.

Payment for entrance, Harry realised. Twenty Galleons or else leave. He briefly wondered what happened to the thick bald head that opened the door but pushed it to the back if his mind as he fished around in his deep pockets and removed his money sack. Carefully counting twenty round gold coins, he tossed them into the bag and the glove bowed to him or that's what it looked like.

The glove beckoned him inside and Harry was led to an empty table inside the Black Unicorn. The air got thicker with sweet smelling smoke and the buzz of conversing customers. They were all laughing and giggling with their companions as some bleached fire after a shot of fire whiskey, some blew rings of circles from their nostrils and some couples were affectionately holding each other while smoking from the same pipe.

Harry was seated a table in the centre of the deceptively long room and his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when he saw who was seated at the table beside him.

It was Lucius Malfoy, Walden McNair and their respective wives. Harry couldn't believe his luck. Here he was here looking for an old contact and instead found a source of hidden information.

The glove pointed its thumb up questioningly waiting for an order.

"Mild midnight oil in a two feet long pipe carved out of holly," he said softly. He wanted a long pipe so that he could lie down comfortably, smoke, get high and listen to what the Malfoy's and McNair's were discussing. The Modred's could wait. This was too good a fortuitous opportunity to pass up.

The pipe came, was lit and Harry pulled deeply, letting the drug slow down his heart beat, fill his mind with the essence of euphoria and sharpen his senses almost to a fault. He wouldn't have smoked but it was essential to keep his cover intact. The more he behaved like the pure-bloods, the more invisible he became.

He lay down comfortable on the cushions with the pipe between his fingers and occasionally pulled deeply, revelling in the effects of the drug. He focused on his ears and the whispers and sounds sharpened into the discernible voice of Lucius Malfoy.

"Fudge is giving into Weasley's demands," he said, the disgust evident in his voice. "The new bill is popular among the muggle-borns and half-bloods and I fear the Wizengamot will approve of the bill anytime now."

Narcissa Malfoy, a beautiful blonde lightly raised her cup with both hands and drank deeply. "1865," she murmured. "A wonderful year for mead brewers."

"Narcissa," Lucius grumbled. "Don't ignore me."

Renata McNair giggled. She was smoking as well with a thin red pipe held between her long delicate fingers that were protected with black lace. "Politics turns into an annoying buzz when you men talk about it," she tittered.

"This effects us all Ren," McNair muttered, "If the law is passed then we have to get rid of a lot of items that have been in the family for generations."

Narcissa frowned, "What good is it, to have so much political power, but no stick to wield it."

"It's not that simple My Love," Lucius said. "Arthur Weasley may be a filthy peon with a waste of a job but he is pure-blood and has the backing of a lot of families who want to see the world-" an expression of disgust overcame his aristocratic looks, "-become more muggle."

"Then get rid of him," Renata said with disdain. "Teach him what it means to interfere with ours lives for his own ambitions. Teach all those muggle lovers who exactly is in charge of this great society."

None of them noticed the figure who was casually smoking and overhearing their whole conversation.

"Well," Lucius said slowly. "I think there might be a way to send a message."

Narcissa brightened. "What nefarious scheme has touched your head this time dear husband."

"Dumbledore is the driving force guiding Weasley," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Without Dumbledore, there is no one in the Wizengamot to bind the muggle loving fools and it will be our hand that sits above the rest."

"We've been trying to get rid of Dumbledore for years Lucius," McNair said dryly. "The man is brilliant and has seen through all our attempts from miles away!"

"What if Weasley was the one doing the discrediting. What if Weasley was caught with his pants down with a dark artefact in his hands."

"Are you suggesting we frame him?"

"Too easy to be seen through," Lucius said dismissively. "What we need is chaos and if Weasley was found to be behind said chaos don't you think it would bring, not only him, but Dumbledore down as well?"

"A bold plan," said Renata. "But how are you going to do it?"

Lucius smiled maliciously. "Before the Dark Lord fell. He gave me a diary."

Renata snorted. "A diary? Old love letters perhaps?" she joked and they laughed.

Lucius ignored her and continued, excited about his plan. "He told me that if this diary ended up in Hogwarts. A purge would be unleashed that would get rid of all unworthy blood."

"And if Weasley got this diary...?" Trailed McNair, not grasping what Malfoy was plotting.

"Not Arthur. If one of his kids got hold of the diary and took it to Hogwarts and unleashed said purge..." Lucius left the rest unsaid.

"The diary would control them and when the truth comes out then all of Dumbledore's preachings would fall apart!" Narcissa burst out excitedly. "Brilliant!"

McNair was still not convinced. "But how are you going to get the diary to them and how are you so certain in will control them?"

"Leave that to me," Lucius said shortly.

"But what about the law? Will it still be passed? The next meeting is in a month and that's barely enough time for your grand plot to succeed," said McNair.

Lucius's expression soured. "Laws can be repelled my friend."

Beside them, Harry was deep in thought. This was all very interesting conversation. A plot to get rid of unworthy blood? Harry would have laughed out loud at the hypocrisy of his words if he weren't so blissfully high. The hand came to refill the pipe but Harry stopped it and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, signalling for the bill. Now that he knew this establishment was run by or supplied by the Modred sisters, he could come back any time to procure the information he needed. For now he needed to report to Hugo and alert him about the possibility of a murderous plot to harm Hogwarts and perhaps a golden chance to bring down Lucius Malfoy.

The gossip reverted back to wine and their kids to which Harry listened intently until his cheque came along. Silently paying and exiting the premises, he drew his wand, spun on his foot and with a crack, apparated back to his home.

-x-x-x-

_**Author's Note:**_

_**Meet the World Leaders next chapter!**_

_**I'm really enjoying writing this story. :) **_

_**Do review and let me know what you think of this.**_


End file.
